


The Forbidden Path

by Atiaran



Series: Ingrid [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 16:39:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6016897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atiaran/pseuds/Atiaran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When her pet rabbit, Cotton, runs off one day, the Dovahkiin's adopted daughter, Sofie, goes down a forbidden path ... and meets a strange friend.  Female Dovahkiin, named Ingrid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Standard disclaimer:** Except for Jehan, none of the characters, places, etc. in this story are mine, but are instead the property of Bethesda Game Studios. No copyright infringement is intended by their use in this story.

 

 **Author’s note:** I was always intrigued by the dark wizard down at the altar near where you build Lakeview Manor in Hearthfire, so this is my attempt to use the character in a story.

 

This story is completely finished, but I’ll be posting it in chapters because my long-suffering beta has too much on her plate to beta it all in one go. Thanks for your help, **LadyKate1** \-- I really appreciate it!

* * *

 

 

The immedate reason Sofie went down the forbidden path that day was a simple one: she was looking for her pet rabbit, Cotton, who had wandered away from the yard of Lakeview Manor. But there was also another reason: Sofie’s adopted mother, Ingrid, had returned after several months’ absence and thrown the entire hall into confusion. Sofie’s adopted sister, Lucia, had escaped by the simple expedient of asking the manor’s cart man, Gunjar, to take her along as he drove into Falkreath to get the list of supplies the _stedding’s_ steward, Uthgerd the Unbroken, had requested; Sofie, who had missed her chance to go along due to chores, simply intended on staying outside and away from the main house as much as possible.

 

She’d hoped Ingrid’s housecarl, Rayya, would let her come along as she walked the _stedding’s_ borders, looking for signs of bandit activity, keeping an eye out for an elk or a deer that might make an excellent dinner. But Rayya had been in a bad mood for some reason or other; the Redguard woman had responded with a curt “No” when Sofie asked her after breakfast. So Sofie had been left to play disconsolately alone outside, petting her rabbit’s soft fur and wishing she’d been quick enough finishing her chores to go with Gunjar this morning.

 

The sun was hot overhead, making her feel sleepy, and a slight breeze stirred the branches of the stands of pine trees that pressed close around the manor’s high, wattle-and-daub walls. From the woven willow livestock pen came the clucking of chickens and now and then the mooing of Thistle, the _stedding’s_ shaggy, long-haired cow. Having grown up on the streets of Windhelm, Sofie was a city girl; she had been afraid of Thistle when Uthgerd had first brought her home. But over time she had learned the cow was a gentle giant, who loved being petted and scratched between her long, spreading horns.

 

Cotton squirmed in her lap; the rabbit felt as restless and nervous as she did. Sofie stroked the doe’s fur, trying to comfort her -- then, inside the house, a door slammed, hard. Sofie started -- and Cotton was off.

 

“Cotton! Come back!” Sofie cried, bolting to her feet; it was no use. The rabbit was across the yard in a flash. In another moment, she disappeared into the clearing in the brush that led to the forbidden path -- the one every adult in the settlement had warned her and Lucia never to go down.

 

“ _Cotton_!” Sofie called again, helplessly, almost in tears. Her beautiful rabbit whose fur was so soft to pet, who cuddled with her under the covers at night when she cried because she was sad about losing her first mother, who kept her company when she was lonely, was gone. Sofie could have kicked herself in anger. How could she be so stupid? Her adopted father, Marcurio, had told her time and again to keep Cotton on a leash when she was outside, or only to play with her in the livestock pen, and she hadn’t listened ….

 

She glanced back irresolutely over her shoulder at the manor. She could almost hear what her new mother would say if she asked for help getting her rabbit back: Ingrid’s brows would draw together in that sharp scowl and she would say, “No. Quit bothering me. I’ve just gotten home and I want to rest.” Aunt Borgakh might have gone with her -- Sofie had been wary of the towering green Orsimer woman at first, but she’d learned Aunt Borgakh had an uproarious laugh and all the best stories -- but for some reason Borgakh hadn’t come back with Ingrid this time. Instead Ingrid had brought a strange Dunmer man named Teldryn Sero, who wore weird armor with a mask covering his face; Sofie was afraid of him and tried to avoid him as much as possible. Uthgerd would say she was too busy, Sofie knew, while Rayya had already rebuffed her once that day. Her father might go with her … but the thought of going back inside with only the bard Llewellyn to cushion her from Marcurio and Ingrid and Teldryn filled her with unease. She shifted from foot to foot, staring indecisively at the path in front of her.

_Maybe … maybe she hasn’t gone too far,_ Sofie thought hopefully. _And besides, everybody’s really busy right now. If I go down there and come back really quickly, maybe nobody will notice I’m gone._

 

She knew why she wasn’t supposed to go down the path: they said a dark wizard lived at the other end of it. Sofie was sensibly wary of strange wizards, in her own mind at least; she’d already been living on the streets of Windhelm, surviving as best she could, when the Butcher had been plying his trade, and they had said afterward that he was a wizard. She’d learned from the streets how to take care of herself. She knew how to avoid being seen; how to talk her way out of trouble or failing that, how to run fast; and she was fairly confident she knew how to spot danger. The thought of some supposed dark wizard was less daunting than going back in the house to ask for help; the thought of holding her sweet bunny in her arms again was a powerful draw. After one last look at the house Sofie slipped across the lawn and down the path.

 

* * *

 

The path led down around the northern slope of the rocky outcropping on which Lakeview Manor was built; its steep surface was overgrown with thistles and clumps of the blue, red and purple mountain flowers that grew everywhere in Skyrim. It was obvious no one had been down this way for quite some time. Sofie slid down carefully, avoiding dead branches and spiky thistle leaves. She called for Cotton every so often, keeping an eye out for anywhere the rabbit might have gone, but she saw nothing.

 

The day was hot, the air oppressively still and humid this close to Lake Ilinalta, the lake that had given Lakeview Manor its name. Sweat trickled down Sofie's face, soaking the red wool of her dress, and she began to feel somewhat faint. The sounds of the settlement receded into the distance behind her, leaving a silence as oppressive as the heat. Her scrambling footsteps seemed tremendously loud in the stillness, filling her with an awkward fear. As she went further and further down the disused trail, she began to wish she hadn't come. Only the thought of her rabbit kept her moving onward.

 

"Cotton?" She winced at the sound of her own voice; it was so loud in the quiet. “Are you there? Cot -- "

 

The trail ended so abruptly that Sofie stumbled and almost fell, as she stepped off the steep downward slope onto ground that was almost level. She caught her balance with a gasp and looked in wonder at her surroundings.

 

She had emerged from the path onto a flat surface of rock lightly covered with a dusting of windblown sand and soil. A high, irregular bulwark of raw stone circled the rock platform to the south and west; this was the base of the huge outcropping around which the trail had led her. Over the lip of the stony bluff, she could just see the roof and tower of Lakeview Manor, perched securely on its commanding heights. The encircling arm of the stone height gave way to trees on the west and east ends; to the south, the platform descended in a gentle slope to a low, cobbled road. Sofie thought it might be the road to Falkreath. The worn cobbles ran along the lakeshore; sunlight glinted off the surface of the moving water. On the other side of the lake, the mountains began: a jagged peak wreathed at the top with clouds reached up to the sky, with tall pine trees climbing its slopes.

 

The flat rock on which she stood bore nine tall, weathered stone pillars standing in an irregular circle around its edges; two of them flanked the mouth of the trail from where Sofie had stepped off. The ring’s center was dominated by an altar shaped like a flat table of stone and iron. It was elaborately carved, but the carvings were worn with age. The top of the altar held melted, unlit candles in iron stands, and -- Sofie gulped -- a pile of bones.

_Cow bones,_ she thought. _They've got to be cow bones, or goat bones. Remember, in your history lessons Llewellyn told you some of the ancient Nord rituals involved sacrificing animals. That's probably what they're from, just leftovers from centuries ago …._

 

But somehow she wasn't convinced.

_Human,_ a deeper voice whispered.

 

The profound hush hung over the clearing. It seemed to have intensified, as if it were an actual weight pressing down on her. Sofie felt she could barely breathe. Yet along with that weight, a sudden, intense curiosity filled her.

 

Were those bones really human? What did human bones look like, anyway? What else was on that altar? She could see other objects on it, but she couldn't make out what they were. Those carvings that danced along the edges -- what were they?

 

Could she tell what they were if she got nearer?

 

One of Sofie's feet moved, then the other, sliding along the ground seemingly of their own volition. She took one trembling step into the clearing. Then a second. A third.

 

Her rabbit was forgotten. The place, with its air of mystery, drew her onward. Why had everyone forbidden her to come down here, anyway? What was so special about this place?

 

The sun shone dully off places on the iron and stone altar that had worn smooth with time; it glinted off the water seen through the trees, winked off grains of sand on the flat rock. The altar stood before her, open and inviting. _Come on,_ it seemed to say. _Don't you want to see? Come closer. Come closer, little girl …._

 

She had made it almost to the altar when a noise startled her.

 

With a cry, Sofie whirled, pressing her back against the carved stone, her hand going to her waist. Shortly after she had adopted them, Ingrid had given both her and Lucia enchanted glass daggers for protection, and Rayya had been giving the two girls regular lessons on how to use them; now, Sofie yanked her dagger free, her heart racing in her chest. Her breath came too loud as she scanned her surroundings wildly, searching for any threat.

 

She almost missed him; he was in the shadows of the bluff, where they lay the thickest. He was a young, slender, human man; probably a Breton, to judge by his warm-hued complexion, russet-brown eyes and hair, and somewhat delicate facial bone structure. He was standing stock-still, three hawk feathers dangling uselessly from the fingers of one hand; the other was upraised and surrounded with a purplish-black glow that Sofie recognized from her lessons with Marcurio as Conjuration. His lips were slightly parted and his eyes wide in shock.

_Why -- **I** startled **him!**_ Sofie thought.

 

All of a sudden, she felt foolish. She sheathed her dagger, and straightened from the side of the altar.

 

"Hi," she said, offering a smile.

 

The young man stared at her for a moment longer -- perhaps trying to determine if she were really there -- then slowly lowered his hand. The glow around his fingers died out.

 

"Hello," he replied.

 

His voice was low, soft; there was a hesitant quality about it, as if he had not spoken to anyone for a long time.

 

"My name is Sofie," she said. "What's yours?"

 

"Jehan," he replied after a moment. Slowly, a little wary, he came a couple of steps nearer, emerging from the shadows. In the better light, Sofie could see he was dressed in soft, flowing black robes, belted around his slim waist with a cord. His hair was a warm reddish-brown, shoulder-length and parted in the middle. He was very thin, almost gaunt; he was pale despite his warm-hued complexion, and there were shadows under his eyes. He looked as if he hadn't been sleeping much.

 

Seeing him in the light, what remained of Sofie's fears evaporated. He did not look dangerous. As her fear left her, she stepped forward boldly.

 

"I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm looking for my pet rabbit, Cotton. Have you seen her? We come from up there -- " she pointed over the cliff toward Lakeview Manor. "I was playing with her in the yard, but she ran away. I thought she came this way. Have you seen her?"

 

"Your … rabbit?" he asked slowly, then, "Yes. Yes, I think I have. Here, one moment." He turned and went back under the shadows; looking closely, Sofie could now see there was a small opening back there: a cave entrance. The young man -- _Jehan,_ she reminded herself -- disappeared back there for a moment; he was carrying Cotton safely in his thin hands.

 

"Is this her?" he asked, stooping to set the rabbit down.

 

"Cotton!" Sofie cried. The rabbit hopped over to her and she scooped it up into her arms. "Oh, _thank_ you! I'm _so_ glad you found her."

 

"She came hopping down the path and came right up to me," Jehan said. "She seemed very friendly. I -- I was thinking that I might keep her," he admitted, a trace of red staining his cheeks. "But … since she's yours …. "

 

He trailed off, that red hue deepening. In a flash it hit Sofie: _He's lonely_.

 

She considered for a moment, holding Cotton in her arms, taking in the young man. _He doesn’t seem so bad,_ she thought. _Why did everyone say to stay away?_ He looked like he could use a friend, Sofie thought — and she knew very well what it was like to need a friend.

 

In a sudden burst of expansiveness, she offered, "Well, maybe I could bring her back to see you sometimes and then you could play with her. Would that be all right?"

 

A shy smile touched his lips. "Yes," he said. "I’d like that."

 

"Great!" Sofie smiled. "How about tomorrow?"

 

"Tomorrow … ?" A frown marred his forehead; he counted on his fingers for a moment, then glanced at the sky. "I suppose tomorrow would be all right. Yes," he said more strongly. "Tomorrow."

 

"All right then, I will." Sofie glanced at the sky herself, estimating how low the sun was above the horizon. "I really should be getting back," she said with a grimace, hoisting Cotton in her arms. "If I'm gone too much longer, they'll miss me. But I'll bring Cotton to see you tomorrow morning as soon as I'm done with my chores, I promise. All right?"

 

"All right," Jehan replied with that shy smile. "I'll see you tomorrow." He said the words as if he wasn't quite sure of their meaning.

 

"Okay, bye!"

 

"Goodbye." He lifted one hand awkwardly in a wave. Sofie waved back and with Cotton safely in her arms, dashed back up the path.

 

* * *

 

It was early evening by the time Sofie got back to the house; she might have made it back sooner, but she hadn't exactly been in a hurry. Her steps began to drag as she neared the settlement, and when she reached the top of the trail, she paused for a long moment. She told herself it was to make sure no one was around to witness her coming back from the forbidden path.

 

She stopped by the livestock pen to say hello to Thistle and to scratch the shaggy cow behind her ears, then went to the stable to pet Ingrid's horse Frost and feed her a carrot. She lingered there until the sky darkened and the air grew chill; when Sofie began to shiver she knew she would have to go inside.

 

The heavy wooden doors were huge, but when Ingrid had built the house she had hung them so well that they didn't even squeak on their hinges. She pulled them open and stepped into the small front room that had originally been the first cottage Ingrid built on the site.

 

Rayya was there, stirring a pot of what smelled like venison stew at the square stone hearth in the middle of the floor. This was Rayya's room; she slept in the large bed that Ingrid had originally occupied with Marcurio when they had first come here. Rayya had the room because it had the main door to the outside and as the housecarl, it was her job to be the first line of defense if the house were ever attacked. When she slept, her double swords hung over the bed, within easy reach. Sofie waited for Rayya to tell her she'd missed dinner, but the housecarl simply handed her a bowl of stew and a bottle of ale.

 

"Here, child," was all she said. "Bolt the doors behind you."

 

Sofie put Cotton down and turned to secure the doors, then took the food.

 

"Your mother informed me she won't be dining tonight," Rayya said, answering her unspoken question.

 

"Where is she?" Sofie asked.

 

"She's in the basement working at her forge with her new follower, that Teldryn man." Teldryn Sero had laid himself a bedroll down in the basement; he said as a Dunmer from Raven Rock, he never felt entirely comfortable sleeping above ground. Sofie was glad; there weren't enough beds for everyone anyway, with Uthgerd and Llewellyn both sleeping on the floor in the storage area in back and Gunjar joining them when the weather was bad enough he couldn't sleep out in the stables with Frost. "The two of them took some bread and cheese down there. Your father won't be dining either; he's in the library tower doing some research." She nodded to the dishes she'd given Sofie. "Eat up, child, before it gets cold."

 

"Oh. Okay. Thank you, Rayya."

 

Llewellyn the Nightingale was in the main hall, idly strumming his lute with a troubled look on his face; he nodded to Sofie, and told her Uthgerd was in the greenhouse and Lucia was upstairs in their room already, but otherwise said little. So Sofie ate her dinner by herself at the long table, somehow feeling chilled despite the huge blazing fire at the far end. The empty clink of her spoon against the bowl seemed the loudest sound in that echoing hall, even louder than Llewellyn's softly-strummed lute music. At last the lonely supper was over with and Sofie was able to take Cotton and escape upstairs to the room she shared with Lucia.

 

It was warmer up in their room; both her and her sister's beds backed up to the chimney, as did Ingrid's and Marcurio's bed on the other side of the gallery. Despite the warmth, Lucia was already in her bed under the covers, reading _Kolb and the Dragon_. She looked up as Sofie came in, holding Cotton.

 

"Gunjar and me got you something in town," she said, indicating the nightstand; Sofie saw _The Yellow Book of Riddles_ lying on the night stand. "He said we should after I got this. Said it was only fair."

 

"Thanks," Sofie said. She didn't feel much like reading right then, but it was nice they had remembered her, she supposed. She climbed into bed, picking up Cotton and putting the bunny next to her under the covers. "Did Marcurio and Ingrid have a fight?"

 

Lucia shook her head slowly. "Not that I saw. Maybe while I was gone … when I got back, Ingrid was already in the basement. And then Marcurio said he was going to be in the library the rest of the night and not to bother him. I think he's in their room now though."

 

"Oh. Okay." Sofie bit her lip. "I'm tired. I think I'm going to go to sleep now."

 

"Me too. I'll put out the light." Lucia reached out and snuffed the candle, and darkness descended on the room.

 

For a long time, Sofie lay with her arms wrapped around Cotton, not sleeping, staring into the dark. She could tell by Lucia's breathing that her sister was not sleeping either. Slivers of light shone through the cracks between the boards that separated their room from their parents. Sometime, much later, she heard footsteps ascending the stairs on the opposite side of the gallery from their room; it was Ingrid, she could tell by the tread. Emanating from her parents' room, she could hear muffled, sharp words exchanged. At last, the light winked out. She held Cotton closer and stared into the darkness. Sometime toward dawn, she slept.

 

* * *

 

 

Ingrid was gone when Sofie got up the next morning. She had gotten Gunjar to drive her into Falkreath; Marcurio said she had some business with the Jarl there. That would have been a relief, except that she had left Teldryn behind; he was out on the upper deck above the storage room practicing archery with Rayya. Marcurio told her that too; he looked cross and out of sorts. When she asked if she and Lucia were going to have a magic lesson that day he frowned.

 

“No, not today. I’m too tired. Go do your chores.”

 

Sofie’s and Lucia’s chores consisted of making their beds, sweeping and tidying their room, and feeding the chickens; she finished them in a flash, and then stuck her head into the greenhouse to tell Uthgerd she was going for a walk. Uthgerd, who was collecting alchemy ingredients, hardly looked up.

 

“All right, be back before dark,” was all she said.

 

Holding Cotton in her arms, Sofie went hurrying down the path with a light heart.

 

Jehan was at the altar when she reached the bottom; his back was to her and he looked as if he were investigating some of the scroll-like carvings on its side. When Sofie called, “Hi, Jehan!” he jumped, visibly startled, dropping a stick of charcoal and a red leather journal.

 

He turned in alarm and saw her. Again, that hesitant smile came to his lips. “Hello, Sofie,” he said. “I wasn’t sure you would come again today.”

 

“I said I would, didn’t I?”

 

“Yes,” he agreed. “But sometimes people say they’ll do things and then they don’t.” His face shadowed. Sofie felt her own expression darken.

 

“I know,” she said. “But I’m not like that. Here, I brought Cotton!” she said, holding the rabbit out to him.

 

Jehan smiled again and took the rabbit, holding it and gently stroking its fur. “She’s very pretty,” he said. “Friendly too.”

 

“I know,” Sofie said. “I’ve had her since she was a kitten. I think a fox must have gotten her mother. There was no one else to take care of her, so I decided I would do it.”

 

“That was very nice of you.” Jehan held Cotton up to look at her. “I have some carrots back in the cave. Does she like carrots?”

 

“She likes everything.”

 

“All right.” He started toward the cave, still holding Cotton, then stopped. He looked back at Sofie awkwardly as if in confusion. “Would you … like to come in?”

 

The invitation was offered as if he knew it would be polite to ask, even though he couldn’t quite remember why. Sofie hesitated for a moment; her time on Windhelm’s streets had taught her to be wary of going anywhere with strange adults. Yet again, her instincts told her Jehan wasn’t dangerous; he wasn’t like those adults — and there were some in Windhelm, some in every town, she thought — who preyed on children.

 

(Once in Windhelm, as she wandered the alleyways late at night, heading south toward Candlehearth Hall where she hoped to beg a bed by the fire for the night, she had heard a scuffle and then a child-like cry. Heart in her throat, she had started to run, when she saw a long low shape: one of Windhelm’s most dangerous predators, motionless on the ground, and stooping over him, a smaller shadow. The shadow had straightened to reveal itself as a girl who looked to be about her age, with dark blonde hair and wearing a red dress. “Don’t worry,” she’d said calmly. “He won’t trouble you, ever again.” And she’d smiled, revealing — but Sofie had seen enough; she’d turned and fled. All the same, since that day forward, she’d felt a little safer wandering Windhelm’s streets at night.)

 

“All right,” she said, and followed Jehan into the cave.

 

Inside it was cool and damp; she waited till her eyes adjusted, and then looked around. The cave was small, not really much more than a crack in the rock bulwark. Against one wall was a bedroll on a pile of straw, with a trunk next to it; a splintery set of shelves had been pounded into the wall and held a collection of books. There were a table and chair with a candlestick, another trunk and set of shelves, and flanking the entrance, an alchemy lab and a small enchanter. A heap of sacks and barrels lay against the back wall — Sofie saw what looked like an alcove, possibly a storage area — and there was a small fire ring in the center of the floor with a tripod and pot standing over it. The fire was smoldering gently. Racks with smoked meat hung from the ceiling.

 

Jehan saw her looking around. “I found it like this,” he explained. “Someone had been living here before.”

 

He set Cotton down on the floor — Sofie watched her but she showed no desire to make a run for it, sniffing the ground underneath her cautiously. Jehan went to the boxes and barrels in the back of the cave and came back holding a couple of carrots. He knelt down and laid one on the floor in front of Cotton. Cotton sniffed at it a moment, and then began to nibble on it.

 

“She likes it,” he said, pleased.

 

“Carrots are one of her favorite things,” Sofie replied, smiling.

 

“I thought she would like them. I used to have a pet rabbit once, and he loved carrots.”

 

“Oh yeah? What was its name?”

 

“I — “ Jehan frowned, and raised one hand to his forehead. “I don’t remember. It was a long time ago.”

 

He looked so sad Sofie felt an answering pang in her own heart; she scooped up Cotton again — the bunny squirmed in protest at being taken away from her snack — and said, “Well, here, you can cuddle Cotton if you want. If that will make you feel better. I cuddle her sometimes when I’m sad and she always helps.”

 

Jehan gave that hesitant smile again, reaching out and petting Cotton’s head. “Thank you. But I really shouldn’t. I — “ He looked over toward his alchemy lab and ran one hand through his hair distractedly. “I really need to get back to work.”

 

“Oh.” Sofie bit her lip. She recognized a dismissal when she heard one, but the thought of going back up the hill to Lakeview Manor felt like a cold cloud passing before the sun. Playing for time, she asked, “What are you doing?”

 

Jehan shook his head. “It’s complicated. I don’t think I could explain it easily.”

_In other words, Go away._ Sofie swallowed, holding Cotton close. “Well, maybe I could watch you. I could even help you a little, if you’d let me. Please?”

 

Jehan turned to look at her, as if seeing her for the first time. The shadows under his eyes looked darker, deeper than they had been the other day. He seemed to be wavering, indecisive; in an intuitive leap, Sofie guessed that he really wanted to let her stay.

_It’s been a long time since he’s spoken to anyone,_ she thought again.

 

“I will be very quiet and I won’t be in the way,” she promised.

 

“Well … all right. But sit over there.” He pointed to the chair, which was located on the opposite side of the room from the alchemy lab. “And don’t interrupt me. It could be — “ He paused and gave the lab another one of those quick, distracted glances. “Dangerous.”

 

* * *

 

 

Sofie sat quietly and watched Jehan as the morning slid into afternoon. She knew a little about alchemy — sometimes when her new parents were in a good mood, they would let Sofie watch them work in the alchemy lab; occasionally they would even explain things. Judging by the ingredients he was using, Sofie guessed Jehan was making a potion that had something to do with Health, but one that looked much stronger than anything she’d seen Ingrid or Marcurio make: he used several ingredients that she didn’t recognize, distilling them over and over in the beaker and retort set into the alchemy lab. As he bent over his work, his face was pale and drawn in the light from the small burner, his lips moving silently. Sofie suspected he had forgotten she was there.

 

After a while, he straightened from the lab table and cast around himself in confusion, clearly searching for something. Sofie, who could guess what he was looking for, jumped down from the chair and silently handed him some juniper berries she had seen him set aside earlier. He looked at her in surprise.

 

“Thank you,” he murmured as an afterthought, and quickly began to crush them in his mortar and pestle.

 

“Are you making a Restore Health potion?” she asked him.

 

“Sort of.” Jehan frowned into the mortar and pestle, then glanced up with that abstract air. Sofie was ready and held out the hawk feathers to him. He took them and began grinding them silently as well.

 

“I could help you, if you told me what to do.”

 

He turned and studied her, as if considering. “You _could_ help me,” he said after a moment. “Could you please chop those Chaurus Hunter Antennae?” He indicated a pile of the things lying on the table next to them. “Use this.” He handed her a silver knife. “It’s important they not touch iron.” He paused as if thinking of something. “You’re not afraid, are you?”

 

“Of Chaurus Hunter Antennae?” Sofie smiled. “Chauruses are just big ugly bugs.”

 

Jehan looked at her closely, as if he hadn’t expected her to say that; then that shy smile graced his lips again. The smile filled Sofie with warmth as she took up the silver dagger and began to cut.

 

The time went so quickly, between Sofie getting things for Jehan and preparing ingredients as he directed her, that she was surprised to look up and find the sun low on the horizon; Jehan had cast a Magelight on the cave ceiling a while back to help him see, but somehow Sofie hadn’t registered it. She put the knife down and slid the pile of Hagraven Feathers she’d been trimming over to Jehan.

 

“Thanks for letting me stay, but I’ve got to get going — they’ll be expecting me back home,” she told him.

 

Jehan twitched a little and looked around at her with those shadowed eyes. “Thank you for helping me,” he said in that soft voice. “I wouldn’t have guessed you knew any Alchemy at all.”

 

“I only know a little bit,” Sofie explained. “But I could learn more if you would teach me.” She had never had much interest in learning alchemy before, but it would give her a chance to get out of Lakeview Manor, and to spend more time with Jehan.

 

He smiled. “I don’t know very much myself — just what I need to for my work — but I can show you what I know. If you will come back.” He paused, somewhat uncertainly. “Will you come back?”

 

“Yes, I’ll be back tomorrow,” she said, smiling. She scooped up Cotton and gave a little curtsey. “See you!”

 

“See you,” he echoed, and she darted off. This time, the approach to Lakeview Manor did not fill her with dread.

_Tomorrow,_ she thought, _I can see Jehan again._

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Author’s note:** Meant to post this one over the weekend, but our cable got knocked out. I also forgot to mention in my note to the first chapter, for fans of my Fallout work -- if any ;) -- reading this, that my Fallout 3 / Fallout: New Vegas crossover is still on the boards. I’m hoping once I get this story completely up and posted that I can then work on it a lot more. But I haven’t forgotten about it, in case anyone cares.

 

* * *

 

Over the next few weeks, Sofie visited Jehan whenever she could get away from Lakeview — which was easy; the place was still in upheaval, and Sofie wasn’t the only one who was making herself scarce. Gunjar the cart man began making daily trips to Falkreath; Rayya seemed to take longer and longer patrolling the boundaries of the settlement, and Lucia was also conspicuous by her absence. Some days Jehan would tell her she should not come down because it would be dangerous; but other than that, she managed to see him almost daily.

 

Sometimes Jehan was doing alchemy when she found him; other times he would be scribbling things in a book and muttering to himself, or tracing symbols on the ground or the flat stone altar. Usually he would break off his work when he saw her, that shy smile lighting his features, and he would stop to play with Cotton a bit. When he resumed, she would join him in chopping roots, holding calipers for him, or sharpening quill pens. Whenever she asked him what he was doing, he would only frown slightly and say, “It’s complicated.” Sofie didn’t mind though. It was enough just to have a chance to get out of the manor.

 

“Your parents taught you Alchemy?” he asked one day. She was crushing pearls for him; he had been muttering to himself that he needed to find something that restored both stamina and magicka, and she had suggested pearls as an option.

 

“My new father did,” Sofie said, sliding the mortar and pestle over to him. “My mother doesn’t teach me so often, but sometimes she lets me watch when she’s making potions. She’s really good, even better than my dad. But she’s not around very much.” She looked away and picked up Cotton, cuddling her rabbit.

 

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Jehan offered.

 

She shrugged. “It’s all right. I know I’m lucky to have them. After I — I lost my first mom and dad — “ She couldn’t help swallowing at the memory. “I didn’t have anyone. I was living on the streets in Windhelm. I’d still be there if my new mom Ingrid hadn’t taken me in.”

 

She glanced up at Jehan. His face was shadowed. “I lost my family too,” he said. “I know how much that hurts.”

 

“You did? When?”

 

“It was — “ He stopped, and that strange look of confusion came over him. She’d noticed it before, whenever he spoke about his own past. “A very long time ago,” he said at last. “I — I’m afraid I don’t remember it very well. But I do remember how it felt.” And again he looked so sad that Sofie found herself rushing to cheer him up.

 

“Like I said, it’s all right. I have Ingrid and Marcurio now, and a sister, Lucia. And when she took me in, Ingrid said she’d take care of me forever, so now I don’t have to worry anymore.”

 

The last sentence didn’t sound as confident as she had hoped; Sofie stopped, biting her lip. She thought of Ingrid’s long absences, of the coldness that Ingrid seemed to bring with her when she was home. She tried not to let herself think of what could happen if the two of them split up; she hadn’t discussed it with Lucia, but she knew her sister was thinking the same thing.

 

“Ingrid and Marcurio — they’re your new parents?” Jehan asked, startling her.

 

“Yes. Marcurio is a mage from Cyrodiil. He grew up in the Imperial capital. He says it’s really beautiful there and the weather is a lot nicer than here. He says maybe he’ll take me there one day. Ingrid, my mother, is a Nord. She’s really important — she’s the Dovahkiin.”

 

“The Dovahkiin,” Jehan repeated with polite interest; it was clear the word meant nothing to him.

 

“Yes. The Jarl appointed her thane of Falkreath and appointed Rayya to be her housecarl. She built Lakeview all by herself.”

 

“I see. I had wondered who was up there,” Jehan said. “I noticed the walls going up, but I didn’t know anything about who was building it.” Sofie noticed he said nothing about having wanted to go and introduce himself.

 

“Yeah, Ingrid did some kind of service for the Jarl, so he gave her Lakeview. I don’t know what,” Sofie said. “After she built the house, Ingrid hired Uthgerd the Unbroken to be her steward, and Llewellyn the Nightingale and Gunjar the cart-man, and then she moved us here from Windhelm -- “

 

Suddenly the cold feeling that had been sitting in her stomach for days rose to almost overwhelm her. She swallowed hard, feeling a heaviness behind her eyes. “I just wish she’d be around more,” she confessed, hearing the plaintive whine in her voice. “Maybe she and Marcurio wouldn’t fight so much if she were. Or maybe they’d fight more. I don’t know. And I don’t like the new follower she brought back, Teldryn Sero. I wish she’d bring Aunt Borgakh back again, but whenever I talk about her, Ingrid gets mad. I guess she has to travel so much because she’s so important, but … I thought when she said she was going to be my new mommy, that she’d be at home like my first mom.”

 

The heaviness behind her eyes was spilling over; Sofie blinked fiercely, trying to fight back the tears. Then she felt a warm hand on her shoulder; she looked up to see Jehan looking down at her with concern. He stood there, holding her gently, as she swallowed back her tears. In his eyes — shadowed, confused and clouded as they were — she seemed to see an answering pain, a raw empathy that made her realize, _He hurts for me!_

 

 

“At least if you’re here you can help me now,” he offered, with that shy smile on his lips.

And somehow, when he said that, Sofie didn’t feel so alone.

 

* * *

 

 

She didn’t get a chance to see Jehan for a few days after that. Ingrid left for Windstad Manor, and in her absence, the house settled down to an uncertain peace — complicated by the fact that Teldryn Sero remained behind, and by the knowledge that she would return before too long. With the temporary peace in the house, it became harder for Sofie to get away; once again, the adults started paying attention to her and Lucia, and monitoring their activities. Rayya took the two of them aside for some more lessons in swordplay, and Llewellyn started them on the next portion of the history of Tamriel; they were working on Ysgramor and the Hundred Companions. Tension was added by Teldryn, who sat at the long table in the great hall nursing a flask of that strong-smelling _sujamma_ and making occasional pointed comments until Llewellyn lost his temper and told him in no uncertain terms to leave.

 

“Ingrid has charged me with educating her daughters and you are interfering,” he said. For all his stern words, Sofie could sense he was afraid; after all, Llewellyn was no fighter, and Teldryn was Ingrid’s current sworn companion. Yet the Dunmer simply rose gracefully from his seat.

 

“Very well, I’ll go elsewhere,” he said coolly. “Go ahead and teach your fairy stories to these innocent children, I certainly won’t interfere.” And he sauntered out of the hall, leaving the skald glowering after him.

 

Marcurio also descended from the library tower, where he had been conducting research for the last couple weeks (or so he said; Sofie was astute and perceptive enough to know what he had really been doing was putting space between himself and Ingrid) and once again resumed their magic lessons. They were working on Destruction Magic; Marcurio said it was important to go in sequence, and he had already taught them some Restoration and Alteration.

 

For lessons, he took them out on the porch on top of the storage addition. The sky was a beautiful blue and the sun was shining brightly; over the edge of the railing, the lake glittered in the sunlight. If Sofie had chosen to look down, she could have gotten a glimpse of the rock platform where Jehan spent his days. Lucia and Sofie took seats on the long bench at the porch table, listening attentively as Marcurio began to speak.

 

“I know I’ve been remiss in giving you your magic lessons lately,” he said quietly. His eyes were shadowed, and there was a somewhat distracted air about him. “I’m sorry. Consistency is important when it comes to magic instruction and I … I’m afraid I haven’t been as consistent as I would like and you deserve. However, now that I have some free time I will try to resume a more regular schedule of instruction.”

 

Sofie and Lucia said nothing but shared a glance. Both of them knew what the other was thinking: the turmoil with Ingrid had been using up most of Marcurio’s time and energy. Lucia, bolder or perhaps less tactful than Sofie, actually broached the subject.

 

“Will Mommy Ingrid come back today?”

 

Sofie winced to see the expression in Marcurio’s eyes. “No. She will be at Windstad a few more days yet. However, she’s said she will return soon, as does her hireling.” He spoke the word with distaste, glancing involuntarily to the door to the main hall, where Teldryn still lounged inside.

 

“Oh.” Lucia looked openly disappointed. “She promised she would bring us presents from Morthal — “

 

“Well, she’ll be back before too long and I’m sure she’ll have something nice for both of you,” Marcurio said curtly. Lucia, hearing the strain in his voice, got the message and fell silent.

 

He paused, as if collecting his thoughts. “I’ve already shown you Flames and Frostbite. Today I’m going to teach you something a little more difficult: Sparks.

 

“Sparks is a shock-based spell, and all the shock-based spells are more difficult than the fire and frost spells. Most people have an intuitive understanding of those two substances; after all, fire warms our homes and cooks our food, while — especially in Skyrim — it is easy to see that frost and snow are a part of the natural world. With shock, however,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back, “most people only know of its energy through thunderstorms. Terrifying and awe-inspiring, yes, but not something one can easily fit into one’s own frame of reference.”

 

His voice was growing more animated as he warmed to his subject; Sofie remembered Ingrid had once said Marcurio’s favorite type of magic was lightning, especially Chain Lightning. Now he eyed his two pupils.

 

“But what if I told you that the same force you see in a bolt of lightning resides within your own body? That same force, the force of shock, lives within _you_ — in your nerves, your spine, your brain. Whenever you move, or speak or even think — that force is at work within you, helping your muscles to move, your mind to form words. There is nothing closer to you, more vital, more — more _alive_ than the shock force.”

 

He paused to let it sink in, his eyes alight with passion. Sofie was speechless. _Lightning — in my body? That’s **horrible!**_

 

Lucia, quicker than she, asked with great interest, “Does that mean the shock force is the same as the life force you’ve been teaching us about with Restoration?”

 

Marcurio frowned slightly, his fine Imperial brow knitting. Like many Imperials, he was darker-complexioned than the average Nord, with clear olive skin. His nose was aquiline above a full-lipped, sensitive mouth, and his eyes were deep-set, brooding and russet. His gleaming chestnut hair was brushed smoothly back and caught in a tail at the nape of his neck. He was a few inches shorter than Ingrid; side-by-side, they made a strange-looking couple, Sofie had always thought, with Ingrid’s classic Nord chiseled profile, alabaster skin, piercing blue eyes, and long blonde hair. Despite the fact that she, Sofie, was a Nord and Lucia an Imperial by heritage, Sofie had often thought that neither she nor Lucia really looked like the offspring of Ingrid and Marcurio.

 

“Not exactly,” Marcurio said at last. “But I suppose you could think of it that way for now if it’s helpful to you. Now remember what I told you: how in order to make fire, you must take the magicka and project it outward as heat? Whereas with frost, it’s the opposite: you actually create a well of magicka inside yourself and pull heat in from the surrounding world?”

 

“Yes, and you said that was why frost magic was more difficult than fire magic,” Lucia said promptly. Sofie bit her lip, thinking not for the first time that Lucia seemed to understand Marcurio’s lessons more readily than she did. _Is it because she’s an Imperial?_ Sofie wondered; Imperials were supposed to have greater facility with magic than many other races. She exhaled slowly, trying to pay attention.

 

“Correct,” Marcurio said. “Now with shock magic, it is more difficult still. With shock magic, you must draw on the magicka and separate it into two parts. As you hold the halves separate, energy will pass between the two as they struggle to rejoin. Take that energy — not the magicka itself — and project it outwards. _That_ will become the lightning.”

 

Sofie frowned. “I don’t understand,” she said.

 

“I think I get it,” Lucia said, so brightly that Sofie wanted to kick her.

 

“It is difficult at first,” Marcurio said, nodding. “It can take months to fully understand shock spells. But they are important to know as the third field of Destruction magic.” He motioned the girls to their feet. “Let’s begin.”

 

He led them to the line Rayya had traced on the stone floor of the porch for archery, facing the straw targets against the far railing. “Here,” he said, taking a place on the line himself. “I’ll show you what it looks like. Watch me now.” He drew back his hands, and blue-white light suddenly danced around his fingertips; as he dropped forward into a lunge, a crackling bolt of lightning seared across their vision. It struck the straw target, leaving a pinpoint burn; a thin thread of smoke rose from the bullseye.

 

“Now, you try,” he said, straightening from his stance and watching them expectantly.

 

Sofie swallowed, hard. She enjoyed learning about magic and she liked practicing on her own out in the woods: sending frost against trees and flames into the surface of the small pond near their house. Yet somehow when it came to performing magic under the eye of Marcurio, it made her nervous; she seemed to forget everything he had told her and she felt like she could do nothing right. Now, she drew on the magic, pulling it into her, feeling it sparkling and dancing along her limbs and nerves.

_You can do this,_ she told herself, a little desperately. _How hard can it be?_

 

She stared at the straw target at the far end of the patio as the magicka danced within her. _What did he tell us to do?_ Somehow she had to _separate_ the energy? How? Sofie tried channeling the pulses into one side of her body, then the other; the energy surged within her like a sea, but she couldn’t figure out how to _separate_ it any more than she could have separated a bowl of water with a knife. She was still struggling when a crackle from Lucia’s direction made her jump.

 

“Got it! Wait — no!” Tiny sparks flared briefly around Lucia’s fingertips, then died, leaving fading after-images across Sofie’s vision. Lucia’s face screwed up into an image of disappointment. “I _thought_ I had it!” she complained, visibly frustrated.

 

“You managed something at least,” Marcurio consoled her. “That was very good for a first try. Keep working on it. Sofie,” he said, turning toward her, “how are you coming?”

 

“It’s not working.” Especially after Lucia’s demonstration, Sofie wanted to cry. _Why can’t I do it? Lucia could …._ “I don’t know what to do to separate the energies.”

 

Marcurio studied her, his brow knitting in an all-too-familiar concerned expression that always made Sofie feel even worse. _It’s like he thinks I’m the stupidest student he’s ever taught…._ “Try a visualization,” he suggested. “Imagine yourself holding the energies as a fountain of water, and as the water bubbles up, it divides into two streams. See if that helps.”

 

For the next few minutes, Sofie did as he had suggested, trying to hold the image in her mind. It didn’t seem to do much good. She could have wept in frustration. Marcurio stood over her, still frowning, at times murmuring instructions that were meant to be helpful: suggesting different visualizations for her to try, or telling her to _relax_ and _remain calm._ He could have been reciting the alphabet for all the good it did her.

 

She fought, over the course of the afternoon, to summon the lightning: _Divide the power into two halves — do not let them reunite — fight against bringing them back together — channel the power from their struggle outward, rather than the power itself —_ Again and again she tried, only to come up with nothing.

 

Making it even worse was that after Lucia’s first experiment which produced only a few flickers of electricity, Sofie’s adopted sister progressed rapidly. By the end of the afternoon, Lucia could produce a full bolt that shot the length of the patio. Sofie, meanwhile, had managed a couple of times to conjure the same tiny flickers as Lucia had gotten at first, but after that, nothing. Her frustration grew as the day wore on until, by the time the sun sank toward the horizon, she was almost in tears.

 

“All right,” Marcurio said at last, glancing at the sun. “I think that’s enough. Girls, you both did very well.” Sofie knew the words were meaningless. _He’s just saying that because he doesn’t want to make me feel bad._ “We’ll try again some other day. Probably not tomorrow; I think your mother is due back tomorrow.” A shadow crossed his face. “But soon. Well done, both of you.”

 

As they went in to the warmth of the great hall Ingrid had built with no help but her own two hands and her housecarl Rayya, Sofie was miserable. She barely touched her dinner that night, she was so full of frustration. If Lucia had said anything, she could have blown up at her and perhaps felt a little better, but she didn’t. Marcurio had said nothing either, but she could see his evident confusion in the frowns he had given her up on the rooftop.

_Is it because I’m a Nord?_ she wondered again. _Is that why I can’t do it? It must be. After all, Lucia is doing so well, and she’s an Imperial_. But Ingrid was a Nord, and she was one of the strongest mages ever, according to Marcurio. _Maybe I’m just too stupid to learn magic,_ she thought hopelessly.

 

Her frustration was so great it almost shielded her from sensing the chilly atmosphere at the dinner table: a chill emanating from Teldryn Sero, who lounged almost insolently at the head of the long table in Ingrid’s place. Finally, after they had all suffered in silence for a while, Rayya excused herself to begin her evening patrol. Her leaving seemed to be the signal for the dinner to break up. Marcurio retreated up to the library tower, and Uthgerd went into the greenhouse again, while Gunjar went out to settle the stock in for the night. Lucia and Sofie made their escape upstairs. Sofie’s stomach still churned with misery as she crept into bed, put out the candle, and pulled the covers up over her, holding Cotton close. _If I could only just figure it out…._

 

Her frustration followed her down into sleep.

 

* * *

 

It was raining when she got up next morning, but by the time she slipped downstairs for breakfast it had petered out, though the sky still was dim and overcast. The gray sky seemed to fit her mood almost precisely.

_Never mind,_ Sofie told herself staunchly. _I’m going to see Jehan today._ The mere idea made her feel better.

 

The main hall was deserted; the adults were all at their chores for the day. Through a cracked door, Sofie saw Lucia in the greenhouse with Uthgerd; with Cotton in her arms, she carefully tiptoed past the door so Uthgerd would not catch her too. A quick peek out the massive front doors and she verified that no one was in the yard, although she heard the chopping sounds of Rayya cutting wood around the side of the house. Still holding Cotton, she darted across the yard in a flash, and was gone down the path to Jehan’s altar.

 

He started when she burst out at the other end, actually jumping, and turned to look at her. “Sofie,” he said, and frowned. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here today.”

 

“Am I not supposed to be here?” A slight chill came over her; Jehan looked so distant, somehow. _As if he’s not even there…._

 

“No … no … “ Jehan’s frown deepened and he glanced at the sky, then seemed to relax. “It’s all right. Today at least. Yes,” he repeated with more assurance. “Today is all right. But you might be bored — I was planning on doing some Enchanting today, instead of Alchemy.” An uncertain look came over him.

 

“No, that’s fine,” she said a little too eagerly. “I can just watch if that’s all right with you. I’ve always wanted to learn Enchanting.” That was a lie, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the shy smile that bloomed on Jehan’s pallid, thin features.

 

“Good. I’m glad,” he said with real warmth. “Actually — there is something you can do. Here.” He handed her a journal of parchment leaves bound in red leather. “These are my notes. You can read from them when I ask you.”

 

“Sure.” Sofie took the leather and settled onto his broken but comfortable wooden stool, glad to have an excuse to stay.

 

She sat and watched as Jehan carefully made his preparations. She had seen Ingrid and Marcurio enchant before; however, Jehan went about it in a much more methodical way than either of them. On a table next to the enchanger, he carefully laid out a few Iron Daggers and Iron Swords, several full sets of jewelry, consisting of rings, circlets, and necklaces, and lastly a set of black robes. Next, he set out several potions and then began laying out Soul Gems: most of them Common or Lesser Soul Gems, but a few of them Greater and there were even two Grand Soul Gems there. He worked with a studied, almost laborious concentration as if he were not quite sure of what he was doing.

 

At last he stepped back and surveyed both the set-up of his equipment and the Grand Enchanter, then seemed to come to the conclusion that all was in readiness. He looked tense and uncertain—afraid of the task ahead of him, perhaps? Then in a rush he seized one of the potion bottles and drank it with one convulsive swallow.

 

He started with the jewelry first. Whereas Ingrid enchanted with a few muttered words and quick, abbreviated gestures, Jehan intoned long, complex incantations and sketched elaborate patterns in the air above the item he was working on, the whole process lasting many minutes. He would sometimes pause in the middle of an incantation as if to think of the next phrase or gesture, and made several stumbles over words. From time to time, he would ask questions of Sofie in an abrupt, almost impatient manner, and Sofie would have to go scrambling through the pages of notes covered with spidery handwriting to find the answer. It took most of the morning for him to finish the sets of jewelry; when he finished with the last gold and onyx circlet, he straightened and, reeling slightly, stepped away from the enchanter. He was even paler than usual, panting heavily, and his face was lightly sheened with sweat.

 

“Are you all right?” she asked in some concern as he sank heavily onto a nearby boulder.

 

“Yes,” he replied faintly. “It’s just — this much enchanting at once is rather strenuous.” Sofie had seen Ingrid do much more enchanting in a much shorter time, but she said nothing. “Could you please bring me some ale?”

 

Sofie brought him a bottle and he took several swallows, drawing a breath and seeming to steady himself. He gave her that small smile. “Thank you for your help.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Sofie said. “Is there much more to do?”

 

“Not too much, at least not at the moment. Just a couple of weapons. But the enchantments on them will be more difficult.”

 

Sofie looked over at the Iron Sword and Iron Dagger resting on the table beside the Enchanter. “Just iron weapons?” she asked.

 

He nodded, still pale but already seeming a bit stronger. “I prefer to work with cold iron. It’s better for my purposes. That or Daedric weapons but they’re almost impossible to find, unfortunately.”

 

“Daedric weapons?” Sofie asked, frowning.

 

Jehan seemed to mistake her meaning. “Yes. Weapons forged by techniques known only to the great demon-smiths of the Daedra. There are a few of them around, but — “

 

“No, I know what Daedric weapons are,” Sofie said. “My new mother makes them. She has lots.”

 

“Your mother — _makes_ them?”

 

He was looking at her in disbelief. That look stung Sofie; she rushed to justify herself.

 

“Yes, she makes them. Down in the basement at her forge. I’ve watched her. She uses Ebony Ingots and Daedra Hearts. She also chants words over them but I don’t understand them. When they come out of the fire they’re all black and spiky and they glow with red lines all over, like there’s fire inside them. She makes armor too, and it looks the same way. Her friend Borgakh used to have a set of Daedric Armor that Ingrid made for her, but Borgakh hasn’t been around in a while.”

 

She broke off; Jehan’s attention had turned inward, away from her. “Can it be?” he was murmuring to himself. “Yet I’d heard that the techniques to make Daedric weapons had been rediscovered — but still — If it were true — “ He frowned again, and ran one hand through his hair distractedly.

 

“It _is_ true,” she insisted. “I promise. I can bring you some, if you want.”

 

That got his attention. “You would — bring me some Daedric artifacts?” he asked her faintly. There was a strange intensity in his eyes; then he shook his head and turned away. “No. No, even if it were true, I couldn’t ask you — “

 

“I’ll do it,” Sofie promised. “I’ll bring you a sword and a dagger if you want me to. My mother has tons of them, she won’t even notice.”

 

“If you did,” he began, “if you could — you don’t know how much of a help it would be to me. It could shorten my work by weeks, maybe even months -- “

 

“I’ll bring them the next time I see you,” she said staunchly. “It’s the least I can do. After all, you’re my friend.”

 

She had meant it to come out warmly, but somehow when she said that it reminded her of her struggles the day before. _At least Jehan likes me,_ she thought. _At least I’m good at helping **him.**_ She looked away, biting her lip.

 

Jehan seemed to see her unhappiness. “Is something wrong?” he asked her, frowning.

 

“No. Well … yes,” she confessed. Suddenly, under Jehan’s frowning, concerned eyes, it was as if a dam had burst; her frustration came pouring out of her.

 

“My new father — he’s a wizard. He’s been teaching us some magic. He’s taught us Flames and Frostbite so far. Yesterday he was trying to teach me and my sister Lightning magic for the first time — it was Sparks — and, well — I just couldn’t get it. I tried all day to do it, and I never got _anything_ but Lucia got it right away. I felt so stupid! I _hate_ feeling stupid, and I tried everything and — “ She threw up her hands unhappily. Suddenly and for no reason she felt tears pricking behind her eyes; quickly she scooped up Cotton and hugged her bunny hard enough to make it squeak in distress. “Maybe I’m just no good at magic. Maybe it’s because I’m a Nord. Lucia is an Imperial and she got it right away. Maybe Nords are just no good at magic.”

 

She hung her head, lost in her own unhappiness, until Jehan’s gentle voice came to her ears. “I don’t think Nords are bad at magic,” he said. “Some of the best magic-users I’ve ever known have been Nords. I think, anyway.” Again, that uncertain frown that came whenever he spoke of the past. _Why does he look like that, I wonder?_

 

“Many Nords are fine magic users,” Jehan continued, picking the thread of his thoughts back up. “Saying you can’t learn magic because you’re a Nord is nonsense. Most likely your father was explaining it in a way you couldn’t understand. You said he’s an Imperial?”

 

“Yes, from Cyrodiil.”

 

“That’s probably why then. Imperial mages have a very particular way they do things, which is good if you think the way they do. But if you don’t — “

 

A shadow fell over his face, an edge of something dark that Sofie had never seen in him before. It was as if a cloud had passed before the sun. Sofie sidled away from him slightly.

 

“Why don’t you tell me how he explained it to you, and I’ll see if I can help?”

 

Sofie told him what Marcurio had told her the day before, about drawing on energy and separating it into two halves, then using the energy generated by the two portions to form Sparks. Jehan listened patiently, nodding now and then. “Yes,” he said when she had finished. “I thought so. That is the standard Imperial method of generating lightning.”

 

Sofie’s heart sank. “I’ll never be able to do it.” She felt her shoulders sag in dejection. “It’s hopeless.”

 

She waited for Jehan to speak up and encourage her, but he said nothing. There was a strange, abstracted frown on his face. _It’s almost as if he’s … arguing with himself?_

 

“What?” she asked him.

 

“Well … it’s just …. The Imperial way of magic is not the only way,” he said slowly. “There are other ways of practicing magic, ways that might be unfamiliar to your new father.” Again, Jehan hesitated, that slight frown marring the smooth skin between his brows. “But I don’t know ... “

 

“What?” she asked again, curiosity piqued, and with it, dawning hope.

 

“I don’t know if I should teach you,” he said at last.

 

“Why not?”

 

“Well …. “ He shifted restlessly and looked uncomfortable. “Your father might not like it.”

 

Sofie scoffed. “Who cares? I won’t tell him. I just want to learn so that I can do it as good as Lucia! Please?”

 

Jehan sighed. “All right. Just don’t tell your father where you learned this.”

 

He led Sofie out of the cave to the flat stone surface in the sparkling sunshine. It was still and quiet; the wind was not blowing, and the lake, glittering through the trees, was flat as clear glass.

 

“Let’s start at the beginning: the source of magicka,” Jehan said. “Your father probably told you that magicka is what is left behind from the power of the et’Ada, the First Spirit Magnus, after his departure from Mundus, the mortal plane. Is that correct?”

 

“Ye-es,” Sofie said slowly; Marcurio’s explanation of what magicka was and just where it came from had always confused her, though Lucia seemed to grasp it perfectly well.

 

“Well, your father is not wrong,” Jehan said. “That is one source of magicka, the most commonly used one, and the only source that Imperial mages are taught to use. However, there is another source.”

 

“Another source?”

 

“Yes.” Jehan nodded. The shadows under his eyes seemed deeper, darker than Sofie remembered. _He looks like he hasn’t been getting much sleep,_ she thought again. “Look around you. What do you see?”

 

He gestured with one black-robed arm. Sofie obediently turned in a circle, taking in her surroundings. “I don’t understand — “

_“Life,_ ” Jehan said with some emphasis. “You see life. All around you. In the trees, in the flowers, the grass under your feet; the insects dancing from blossom to blossom, the fish splashing in the lake. We live in a world that is _bursting_ with energy — with _power,_ ” he added with soft reverence. “Power — the life force — surrounds us all, every moment of every day; it resides in the food we eat, the water we drink; we breathe it in with every breath. All that power, just waiting for someone to reach out and take it.”

 

“You mean — take the life force from other creatures?” Sofie asked somewhat doubtfully. A faint chill of unease ran down her spine.

 

Jehan shook his head at once; seeing such a definite denial calmed her. “No. That’s not possible. The life force clings very closely to the creatures it animates; it is very, very difficult to separate the two when they don’t want to be separated. However, what happens when something alive dies?” he asked. “Where does that life force go?”

 

“Aetherius?”

 

“No, that’s where the _soul_ goes,” he corrected patiently. “Where does the _energy_ go?”

 

Sofie frowned. “I don’t know.”

 

“It doesn’t go anywhere,” Jehan explained. “It stays, right here, embedded in the world, waiting to be drawn on as new creatures are born. That force, that _power_ , is another source of magic wizards can tap into — _if_ they know how.”

 

There was a strange light in Jehan’s eyes; his voice held a deeper resonance than usual. It reminded Sofie of Marcurio when he had been explaining lightning magic earlier; but there was something else there too, something she couldn’t quite name. Her unease deepened, and she edged away from him again. He didn’t seem to notice though.

 

“Because this source of energy is from the living, it is much more … hm, _volatile,_ easy to shape, than the energy drawn from Magnus. Instead of having to engage in elaborate manipulations to get the energy to behave as you wish, you need only to instruct it with your mind. Here.” He reached out and took her hands. “Let me show you.”

 

Sofie shrank back automatically. “I’m afraid.”

 

“There’s nothing to be afraid of. _Here.”_

 

He drew her into the middle of the circle of stones, close to the large altar. Sofie felt her skin prickle. “The standing stones amplify the power, making it easier to sense,” he explained. “That’s why I chose this spot for my work. Or … or it chose me … “ He trailed off uncertainly, then came back to himself. “Close your eyes and open yourself as if you were trying to draw on the source of magicka. Concentrate.”

 

Still uneasy, Sofie did as he asked, growing still, closing her eyes and trying to find her center, doing one of the mind-drills Marcurio had taught her. She extended her thoughts outward, reaching for the bright source of the magicka that was all she knew. She could feel it, dancing just beyond her range of consciousness, a sparkling, bright energy that seemed to call to her.

 

“Well?” she heard Jehan ask.

 

Without opening her eyes, she said, “I feel the magicka Marcurio showed us …. “

 

“Yes,” Jehan said patiently, “but what else?”

 

“What — _else?_ ”

 

“Reach farther. Look behind it, or beyond it if you will. As I said, it will be easier to find in this place, but once you _have_ found it, you will be able to locate it anywhere. Look beyond. What do you feel?”

 

“I don’t know … “ Sofie concentrated as hard as she could, feeling the dancing energy that she was already familiar with. _Look beyond it … behind it?_ She scarcely understood what Jehan was telling her to do, but she strove to obey, exploring the contours of the energy, feeling it sparkling around her, through her … _He said the stones amplified it, maybe … ?_

 

She tried to concentrate on the standing stones. _They’re all around … watching me …._ Somehow, unbidden, the image popped into her mind of the first day she had come here: the sense of expectation she had felt, as if the place had been waiting for her; the altar, and the draw she had felt toward it. There was power in this place, she had been able to tell it then …. _Was that what I felt?_

 

As she concentrated, slowly another force began to impinge on her mind. As Jehan had said it would be, it was somehow _underneath_ or _behind_ the familiar energy of the magicka she knew so well: she could sense something else, vast, deep, and limitlessly powerful _._

_Cold,_ Sofie thought. _Ancient_. And above all, _dead_. She didn’t know precisely how that word fit, yet somehow it did. _Dead, the energy is dead, and yet somehow it lives … watching … waiting …_

 

With a cry, she opened her eyes and jerked away from the altar.

 

“You felt it?” That strange, almost eager light was still in Jehan’s eyes _._

 

“I did,” she whimpered, holding herself. “It frightened me … “

 

She drew back from Jehan, expecting him to scold her, but he only looked at her with compassion. “I know. I was afraid the first time I sensed that energy too.” Sofie knew better than to ask him when that had been. “Once you’ve drawn on it a couple of times, you’ll get used to it.”

 

“I don’t know … “

 

He looked at her patiently. “It’s just like using the magicka your father taught you. Weren’t you afraid the first couple times you did that?”

 

“I — “ But Sofie broke off, because all of a sudden, she remembered she _had_ been: had been afraid of all that power, had been afraid it would crush her. _Maybe he’s right,_ she thought, and looked up at Jehan in confusion.

 

“I guess I was,” she said after a moment. “But — “

 

“Yes?”

 

“Is it safe?”

 

“Safe?” Now it was Jehan’s turn to look confused.

 

“Will it hurt me?”

 

He smiled. “No, not at all. After all, this is the power source I use, and aren’t I all right?”

 

“Ye-es,” she said uneasily.

 

“Go ahead,” he told her. “Try it. You’ll see.”

 

Sofie did as he told her, reaching out to the power source, drawing from it just as she did when she was casting normal magicka. It flowed easily, much more easily than the magicka Marcurio had taught her and Lucia to draw upon.

 

“It’s more … “ She frowned. “More _slippery_ somehow too. I can feel — it’ll be a lot easier to work with.”

 

“Yes,” Jehan said, nodding. “This is life-energy. Nothing living is foreign to it, unlike the magicka the Arcane University wizards in Cyrodiil would have you use.” His face darkened, but Sofie did not see. She was too busy concentrating on the feel of this new energy, her fear fading as she worked with it. _Perhaps he is right,_ she thought. _Perhaps it is no different than working with the kind of magicka Marcurio showed us._

 

“How do I make it do lightning? Do I need to separate it into two halves like Marcurio said?”

 

“No, nothing so complicated. You know that the force of lightning resides within you, right?”

 

“Yes,” Sofie said, nodding at once. “My new father told me that.”

 

“All you have to do is think of that force within you and convert the energy you hold to become like it. Then project it outward away from you. If you do it correctly it should be as easy as reaching out your hand. Try it,” he said.

_Convert the energy you hold to become like that force._ Sofie closed her eyes, sensing the energy within her, concentrating. She held it with her mind, and with an effort of will, crushed the energy into the shape of lightning. It fought against her, ceaselessly fluctuating within her grip, but she held it relentlessly. Then with another effort of will, she _threw_ all that energy outward, away from her.

 

The ends of her fingertips crackled and she opened her eyes, stunned to see and hear the white-hot bolt of light dancing across the open space. It struck the altar and she shied away as it threw out sparks.

 

“I did it!” she cried, elated beyond all measure. “And that was even better than Lucia!”

 

She turned excitedly to Jehan, who offered her that quiet, shy smile.

 

“That was very good,” he said. “Now try it again.”

 

The two of them spent the rest of the afternoon practicing: Sofie drawing on the new energy Jehan had showed her, and using it to cast lightning again and again, and Jehan watching and offering gentle suggestions. Under his coaching, Sofie also tried to make fire and frost, and found she could do those as well, even better than by following Marcurio’s instructions. She was thrilled. Finally, she could do magic even better than Lucia. _Marcurio’s bound to be pleased with me when he sees what I can do,_ she thought. She could almost hear his praise for her and it made her feel warm all over.

 

At last as the sun sank toward the horizon and a chill crept into the air, Sofie realized it was time to stop. She suddenly felt completely exhausted and she was starving — she had been so caught up in her practice that she hadn’t eaten anything all day.

 

“I have to go,” she told Jehan with regret, bending to scoop up Cotton, who had been nibbling grass at her feet. Her fingertips still tingled, and she could smell the acrid scent of electricity in the clearing. She glanced toward the cave, where Jehan kept his Enchanter. “I’m sorry you didn’t get a chance to finish your enchanting. But thank you for showing me how to do lightning.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Jehan said, and that small, shy smile crossed his lips again. “Will you come tomorrow?”

 

“I don’t know.” Sofie frowned. “It might be hard for me to get away. But if I can, I will. And I’ll also bring you those Daedric weapons too, if I can get them.”

 

“Would you?” he asked her hopefully. “It would be such a help to me — “

 

“I will. I promise. I’ll see you tomorrow, if I can,” she repeated, and with that, ran up the path toward Lakeview Manor.

 

* * *

 

 

Glancing at the darkening sky as she ran up the path, Sofie felt a chill steal over her. _I didn’t realize it was this late…._ She clutched Cotton closely. _What if someone notices I’m gone? What if they yell at me — or even worse, ask where I’ve been?_ Somehow, she didn’t want to tell anyone about her friendship with Jehan. She was pretty sure that if she did, Marcurio and Ingrid would forbid her to visit him at the very least. At the worst —

 

Sofie didn’t even want to think about what might happen. She had seen the members of her mother’s household in action when bandits attacked the _stedding_. If they were to turn that ferocity on Jehan .... Just why they might do that, she didn’t know, but the thought of it still filled her with dread.

_Surely they wouldn’t_ —

 

When she reached the house, it was almost full dark. Every window in the vast, black silhouette blazed with light, throwing yellow patterns through the darkness onto the ground outside. _Are they all waiting up for me?_ she wondered with a gulp. But as she skulked along the side of the manor, she saw Ingrid’s horse -- a strange black beast with eyes that sometimes almost appeared to glow red -- and realized with a sinking feeling that her mother was back in residence.

_Oh no …._

 

She reached hesitantly for the handles on the front door, when suddenly the doors slammed open with such force that they crashed back against the walls on either side. Ingrid came storming out, almost knocking Sofie over, clad in her full dragonscale armor and with her blonde braids flying. Teldryn Sero was behind her.

 

“M-mother?” Sofie faltered. Ingrid’s beautiful Nordic profile was frozen in a mask of anger.

 

The word seemed to penetrate to Ingrid’s consciousness. She turned and stared down at Sofie with an almost frightening intensity.

 

“Sofie,” she said, seeming to recollect herself.

 

“Is something wrong? I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you got home — I didn’t know you were coming home today. I didn’t mean to make you mad — “

 

Ingrid stared at her a moment more as if trying to make sense of what Sofie said. Teldryn waited in the background, his arms folded sardonically. “It’s all right, Sofie,” she said at last, seeming to recollect herself. “I’m not mad at you. It’s all right that you didn’t know I was coming home today, I didn’t send word. I’m off to do some hunting — there are some bandits in the Pinewatch Sanctuary that I’ve got to clear out. Here,” she said, and pressed a round coin into Sofie’s hand. “Take this for your allowance. You can go with Gunjar into Falkreath tomorrow and spend it. Now go inside and go get dinner. I’ll be back later.”

 

She strode with long angry strides across the darkened clearing to that strange black horse, and swung up on its back in one fluid motion. With a harsh cry, she kicked the horse into a gallop and thundered down the worn path away from the _stedding._ Teldryn watched her go, then tossed Sofie a lazy salute.

 

“And a pleasant evening to you too, little girl,” he said, and then followed after Ingrid on foot, with no sign of hurry.

 

The moons and stars were out now. Sofie watched Ingrid’s form becoming smaller and smaller in the moonlit night before vanishing at last around a curve; then she turned back to the high, dark walls of Lakeview Manor. The house loomed forbiddingly above, and she was suddenly filled with sick dread. She wanted nothing more than to just leave — to take Cotton, turn around, go back down the path — just go _away,_ somewhere she wouldn’t have to face all the tension she knew was waiting for her.

_You’re here now. Everyone inside is expecting you,_ she told herself sternly. With more strength than she would have suspected she possessed, she took hold of the door handle and pulled it open.

 

When she peeked into the great hall, the air felt frozen. Everyone was staring in her direction. Marcurio’s face was black with rage, and the anger in the air was as loud as a shout. Sofie swallowed, thinking in fear that people were angry at her.

 

“Is something wrong?” she faltered. She caught Lucia’s eye, and Lucia shook her head slightly. “I’m sorry I got back so late — “

 

Her words fell into the vast silence. No one seemed to even notice she’d spoken. Abruptly, Marcurio shoved back his chair and stood up. Without so much as a word, he crossed the room to the library and disappeared through the double doors with a slam.

 

“So,” Llewellyn the Nightingale said with black humor, breaking the silence. “Dinner?”

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Lucia filled Sofie in on what had happened. “They had a _huge_ fight,” she said, opening her eyes wide. “I’ve never seen either one of them so mad before. Marcurio yelled at Ingrid that she was hardly ever around and she never paid any attention to us or to him, and Ingrid said she had important things to do that he couldn’t possibly understand, and then Marcurio said, ‘You spent more time with Borgakh than you ever did with the family!’ And Ingrid said that was because Borgakh didn’t harp and criticize her all the time and actually let her get some peace and quiet for once. And then Marcurio said, ‘Where is Borgakh anyway? Did you get tired of her and ditch her too?’ And Ingrid just turned on him with this _look,_ and I really thought she was going to hit him,” Lucia confided in hushed tones, as the two of them swept their room on the upper floor.

 

“And then what happened?” Sofie asked, riveted.

 

“Nothing, she just stormed out, and that’s when you came in,” Lucia said. “Who knows when she’ll be back. Honestly, I’m glad she’s gone. It was really scary. Be glad you missed the whole thing.”

 

“Your mother and I are having some problems,” Marcurio told them later that morning at breakfast. He looked exhausted: unshaven, with dark circles under his eyes, and almost as pale as Jehan. Ingrid’s place was conspicuously vacant. Neither Sofie nor Lucia said anything in response to Marcurio’s revelation, but simply exchanged glances; each could read in the other’s eyes, _No kidding._

 

“Things are very complicated between us right now,” Marcurio continued. “But know that we are committed to each other, and we care about and are committed to you children also. No matter what happens, we’ll see to it that you two are taken care of.”

 

That statement was so obviously untrue, neither Sofie nor Lucia bothered to comment on it. Sofie thought it was blatantly clear that Ingrid simply didn’t want to be tied down anymore, and just as clear that Marcurio would not tolerate the situation much longer himself. The only question was how much longer they would drag the whole thing out.

 

“See, at first they got along great together,” Lucia explained; she had been adopted first, so had been observing the two for longer. “Back then they were living in Solitude. Ingrid still wasn’t around a lot, but she was around _more,_ and Marcurio liked living in Solitude — he said it felt more Imperial. There were a lot of people around, there was a lot to do, a whole Imperial legion in Castle Dour for him to work with, the library of the Bards’ College where he could get books, a Grand Enchanter and a big Alchemy lab for him to conduct his experiments. But things started getting worse when Ingrid made us all move to Windhelm — people there don’t like Imperials as much,” she said; Sofie said nothing, but knew it was true. “And then she made us move again, out here, and he liked that even less. I think Marcurio would still be willing to put up with it if she just left him alone so he could keep doing his research, but what really makes him mad is that she keeps coming back every now and then and expecting everything to be just like it was before.”

 

“What do you think is going to happen?” Sofie asked.

 

Lucia looked at Sofie significantly. “Isn’t it obvious?” she asked. “Sooner or later, Marcurio is finally going to have had enough and go back to Cyrodiil. The only question will be, will Ingrid notice he’s gone. And after that, with Ingrid — who knows? But I don’t think she’ll come back _here_ again.”

 

“Oh.” Sofie knew Lucia was right; she could feel it in her bones. She bit her lip, thinking. “But — what about _us?_ ” she asked. She didn’t bother to mention that Marcurio had said they would be taken care of; Sofie didn’t believe that, and she could see, neither did Lucia.

 

Lucia shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m thinking I might run away,” she said coolly.

 

Sofie nodded; it made perfect sense to her. After all, there would be no house and no household without Ingrid and Marcurio. “Where would you go?” she asked.

 

“Probably back to Whiterun. Or maybe Solitude. It’s only a couple of days, and I bet I could get a ride from a cartman.”

 

“Aren’t you afraid it might be dangerous?” Sofie asked.

 

“No. I’ll take the dagger Ingrid gave me, and this time we know how to use some magic like Marcurio taught us. I was taking care of myself fine before, I should be able to now even better.”

 

“I guess that does make sense,” Sofie admitted, thinking it over.

 

“What about you?” Lucia asked. She didn’t suggest the two of them might stay together, nor did Sofie expect her to; despite what it pleased Ingrid to say, the two of them were not, and never had been, sisters as much as two girls of the same age, living under the same roof.

 

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll go back to Windhelm,” she said. “Or maybe I’ll go somewhere south like Ivarstead or Karthwasten. Windhelm gets really cold in the winter.” She shivered, remembering.

 

But even as she said that, an idea was coming to her, one she scarcely dared admit to herself. _Maybe — just maybe,_ she hardly dared to think, _maybe Jehan will let me stay with him._

 


	3. Chapter 3

_Maybe Jehan will let me stay with him,_ she told herself. _After all, why wouldn’t he?_

 

The idea was frightening and exciting at once: thrilling, to think that she might finally have a place where she belonged, with someone who really cared about her again; terrifying because she could almost not bear to face how much she really wanted it. _I’ve been a big help to him with his Alchemy and Enchanting — he even said so himself. And I **know** he’s lonely, just like me. With me and Cotton around, maybe — maybe — _

 

It had been a couple of days since Ingrid and Marcurio’s fight. Ingrid hadn’t been back in all that time, and though Sofie had dreadfully wanted to see Jehan again, she just couldn’t get away. The weather had interfered; a storm had blown in off the lake, making the path down to Jehan’s impassable, and then when the rain abated, Uthgerd commandeered her and Lucia to assist her working in the vegetable garden.

_At least,_ she thought, _I can bring him something. Bring him what I promised. If I do that —_

 

It was past noon. The weather had cleared, but Marcurio had descended from the library tower to inform Sofie and Lucia that he would be holding a magic lesson for them later that day, meaning she still wouldn’t have a chance to visit Jehan.

_But maybe now I can show Marcurio what I learned,_ she thought, and smiled.

 

Lucia was still working in the garden, but Sofie had been able to get away temporarily by saying she wanted to put her rabbit back inside. Ingrid and Teldryn were still not back yet. Marcurio was upstairs in the library tower, and Rayya was out, walking the perimeter. Llewellyn was the only adult inside, but he was all the way downstairs in the front hall. There was no one to see her.

_Now’s the time!_

 

Sofie slipped out of her room and rounded the wall to the passage at the back of the house, keeping one eye on the double doors that led to the patio. She knew, though, that they would not open. She slipped down the passage and into Ingrid’s and Marcurio’s room, on the opposite side of the chimney from her own. For a moment, she stood there, looking over the double bed, the huge, carved wardrobes at either side of the room, the end tables … and the trunk at the foot of the bed where Ingrid kept her weapons.

 

The house was completely quiet; Sofie knew she was alone. Still, she hesitated, a feeling of superstitious guilt prickling along her back and shoulders. She held her breath, listening for the slightest noise. There was nothing except wind around the rafters and the creaking of the roof tiles; then outside, Thistle the cow lowed.

_Come on, Sofie_ , she told herself. _You won’t get a better time than this. Let’s do it._

 

Holding her breath and trying not to make the slightest noise, Sofie stepped lightly across the floor boards until she stood in front of the trunk. Her entire body was tingling with hyperawareness _._ _If Ingrid comes back and finds you —_ _If she comes back —_

_She’s not coming back any time soon and you know it_ , Sofie told herself roughly.

_But if someone catches you —_

_No one’s going to catch you if you hurry up. Just do it!_

 

Sofie got to her knees in front of the trunk. Ingrid didn’t even bother to keep it latched. She lifted the carved lid, and stared at the wonders within.

 

Swords, daggers, maces, axes, bows and arrows all lay jumbled together haphazardly, as if Ingrid had just tossed them in like trash. But they were not. No common weapons of simple iron or steel, the hoard within gleamed with the light of gold and chased silver. Delicate, golden Elven swords worked in the form of feathers lay next to blunt, heavy Dwarven axes and hammers; curving black Ebony blades, dark as chunks of a starless night sky, caught her eye so that she had to tear herself away. A pale blue-green Glass axe, its blade sweeping in a graceful arc, glimmered softly next to a crude-looking quiver of Dragonbone arrows. A bluish-white dagger that looked as if it were chipped out of stone sat on top of the pile, but when Sofie reached in to move it, she drew her hand back, startled — an icy cold poured off the weapon. _Stahlhrim?_ She thought she remembered hearing Ingrid mention the word: it was a type of ice hard and strong enough to make weapons out of, and had been used by the ancient Nords on Solstheim. _Is that what this is?_

 

Many of the weapons were magic; Sofie could tell by the softly, subtly shifting lines of enchantment flowing just under their surfaces. When she reached into the chest carefully lifting the swords, daggers and axes one by one and piling them to one side, she could feel the magic tingling against her skin. She had to struggle with the bigger weapons, the warhammers and battleaxes and greatswords were almost too heavy for her to lift. All the time, she felt horribly exposed, as if any minute Ingrid would come bursting in and demand to know what she was doing.

_Come on,_ she tried to argue with herself, pulling a wicked-looking Dragonbone Greatsword out of the way with all her strength. _You know Ingrid’s gone. And if she **did** come back, do you really think she’d be upset? She’d probably laugh to see that you were taking an interest in her weapons. She’s got way more than she ever uses, or that **anybody** ever uses — she’s even said herself she stopped keeping track of everything she had a long time ago. So what are you worried about?_

 

The Dragonbone Greatsword slipped; Sofie gasped and jerked her foot back just in time as its razor-sharp blade went crashing to the floor. A moment later and she’d have lost her toes. She stood for a moment, shivering in fear, straining her ears to see if anyone had heard. There was nothing; slowly she relaxed.

_It’s not fear,_ she realized as she knelt again in front of the chest. Now she saw her goal: a pile of glowing Daedric weapons. They lay jumbled carelessly in the bottom of the chest, tossed there with the same lack of concern as the other weapons: they lay there in sinister beauty, forming strange, exotic, almost organic thorny shapes, bristling with spikes and spines. The curved blade of a Daedric battleaxe suggested the sweep of a dragon’s wing; the head of a Daedric mace seemed like a giant, grasping claw. They were as smooth, light-absorbing, matte black as the Ebony weapons, but traced with lines of glowing red. The red lines pulsed, as if somehow alive.

 

As if the weapons were _watching._

_It’s not fear_ , Sofie thought, staring at the blades. _It’s not fear that makes me feel like Ingrid is going to come back at any moment and catch me. It’s —_

 

The weapons shimmered softly in the depths of the chest, as if waiting for her. _Go ahead_ , they seemed to say. _Pick us up. You know you want to, little girl. Isn’t that what you’re here for?_ Still she did not move.

_It’s guilt._

 

Sofie knew full well that what she was about to do was a very bad word, and that word was _stealing._ She knew beyond question that stealing was wrong. Her first mother and father, whom she had loved very much, had made that perfectly clear. That lesson had been so ingrained in her that even after her parents died, and she had been left homeless on the streets of Windhelm, she had never resorted to stealing, not even once. There had been many nights when she had gone hungry because she had found no one to buy her flowers, but she had never, ever stolen. She’d been so proud of that. It had made her think that if her mother and father were looking down on her from the Aetherium, they would have been proud of her too. _See, Mom and Dad? I remember what you taught me. I know you would never want me to steal, and I won’t. I promise. I love you …._

 

She and Lucia had never talked about it, just as they’d never discussed anything about their separate lives on the streets before Ingrid had taken them in, but from a couple hints she’d picked up, Sofie had the impression that her adopted sister had not been so scrupulous. She’d been living on the streets long enough to know that most people had to steal eventually, and had sometimes wondered how long she could go without stealing — if finally, one day she’d get so cold and hungry she wouldn’t be able to help herself — but Ingrid had taken her in before it came to that.

_So how can I resort to stealing now, when I’m **not** going hungry?_

 

She stared at the weapons lying within the chest, the pulsing lines of red light glistening along their edges. Even if she _had_ been starving, there would still be no justification for stealing _weapons._ This was even worse than stealing food would have been. _It’s wrong,_ a distant voice in her head yammered at her. _It’s wrong, it’s wrong, it’s wrong …._

_It isn’t stealing, not really,_ she tried to tell herself. _I’m a member of Ingrid’s household. I’m her **daughter.** Therefore I have a right to these weapons too. After all, she never told me I **couldn’t** take them. It’s more like … like **borrowing.** Think of it like that. I mean, she doesn’t mind if I take books from the library tower, _ she tried to persuade herself.

 

It wasn’t working. The justifications seemed hollow in her mind. She knew that Jehan was going to keep the Daedric weaponry she was getting for him, and she also had a pretty good idea Ingrid would not like her taking the weapons for herself — _or would she?_ Sofie had to admit she didn’t know. _For all you know, Ingrid might be happy that they’re being used._

_Besides —_ and the thought came with a strange, bitter twist that made her feel suddenly hot and prickly all over — _it’s not like Ingrid is ever around to use this stuff anyway. It’s practically abandoned. She’ll never notice it’s gone. And if she wanted to keep it, she should take better care of it._

 

Somehow that was enough; the thought decided her. Sofie reached into the chest and closed her hand around the hilt of a dagger.

 

She had never held a Daedric weapon before. It was warm to the touch, almost unnaturally so; tingles ran up her arm as if the weapon was vibrating ever so slightly in her grasp. It felt like she was touching something _alive_ , and the shock of the sensation almost made her drop it; she clutched it tightly at the last moment. That strange, sinister sense filled her that the weapon she held was watching her, evaluating to see whether she was worthy, and it made her shiver.

_I’m not going to keep you, honest!_ she found herself thinking. _I’m only going to take you to someone else who will use you …._

 

It was as if the thought quieted the dagger somehow; it seemed to rest in her grip. Sofie set it aside carefully, then stared into the chest and bit her lip. _I promised Jehan a sword too …_

 

The dagger had seemed strangely heavy for its size, and the sword was more so; it took all her strength to drag it out of the chest. _How am I ever going to get this to Jehan?_ _Surely they’ll see me taking it out …_ Yet she had promised him. With a huge effort, she pulled the sword out of the chest and laid it next to the dagger.

 

A door slammed somewhere up above, filling her with a shock of fright. _The library tower — Marcurio?_ If Marcurio came in now, seeing her surrounded by Ingrid’s weapons, what would he say? How could she possibly explain it?

 

With strength born of fear, Sofie began snatching up the jumble of weapons that lay strewn all over the floor and tossing them back in the trunk; in the back of her mind she thanked Ingrid for putting them there in no discernable order. She crammed swords, daggers, maces, axes, and hammers back in as fast as she could, cutting herself several times on the sharp blades. _They’ll never fit, they’ll never fit,_ she thought desperately, _by the Nine, Marcurio’s going to come in any moment and see me —_ She snatched up the last Elven War Axe and shoved it into the chest, then tried to close the lid on top of the pile without slamming it. The lid refused to close, and Sofie wanted to cry — she was sure she could hear Marcurio’s footsteps on the stair behind her, coming closer, step by step. _Any minute now —_ Desperately, she shoved on the lid. _Any minute —_

 

Then she noticed that the paper-thin blade of a Dragonbone Dagger was caught between the lid and the body of the chest, blocking it from closing all the way. She knocked at it with the back of her hand; the dagger fell back inside and the lid thumped closed. No time to worry about whether Marcurio had heard it; Sofie snatched up the Daedric Dagger and thrust it through her belt, then wrestled the sword up onto her shoulder. The fear was still in her, but there was also a heady excitement, a feeling of a game — that she was keeping away from Marcurio. Almost giggling, she hurried out the back of the room and around the wall to the room she shared with Lucia. Quickly, she slid the dagger under her pillow and the sword under her bed, as she heard Marcurio’s footsteps enter his own room on the other side of the chimney. She flung herself onto her bed and grabbed _The Yellow Book of Riddles_ from the nightstand, so that she could pretend to be reading in case Marcurio came in. But there was nothing. Only silence.

_He didn’t notice,_ she thought, and suddenly had to bite down on a wave of giggles. _He never knew I was there. Now all I have to do is get the weapons to Jehan …._

 

Somehow, that sounded like the easy part. She could almost see the look on his face when she gave him the sword and the dagger — could hear his warm, admiring words — _“Sofie, I can’t believe you got this all by yourself! You’re such a big help to me, I don’t know how I got along without you,”_ and even, _“Sofie, I would really like it if you would come to live with me …. “_

 

The rush of warmth the dream called up in her almost obscured the cold, nagging guilt in the back of her mind. For a while, anyway.

 

* * *

 

 

That afternoon found Sofie sitting alone on the patio rooftop, waiting for Marcurio’s promised magic lesson. She could hear the lowing of Thistle coming from the side yard, along with the clucking of the _stedding’s_ chickens; Gunjar the cart-man shouted something and she heard Uthgerd the Unbroken reply in a low voice. Marcurio, however, was nowhere to be found, and neither was Lucia.

 

_He’s not coming,_ she thought, watching the sun sink lower in the sky. Anger rose in her.

_What’s going on? Am **I** the only one who remembered? _ Her skin prickled as she suddenly found herself wondering, half seriously, if this were some kind of an elaborate joke Marcurio and Lucia had set up to play on her. She knew that wasn’t very likely — but part of her was convinced, irrationally, that it _was_ true.

_I know Marcurio doesn’t like me as much as Lucia because I’m not an Imperial and I’m no good at magic._ Whether it was true or not, it _felt_ true to Sofie at that moment.   And it made her feel even worse, because her “own” parent, the Nordic Ingrid, cared for them even less than Marcurio did.

 

She sat on the wooden bench across from the straw targets, her eyes fixed on the dark pines climbing the skirts of the jagged gray mountains across Lake Ilinalta.   An all-too-familiar leaden weight dragged down the pit of her stomach. _Marcurio doesn’t care about me._ _Neither does Ingrid._ The feeling in Sofie’s stomach deepened into something hot and hurting, something that felt like a dull anger. _Ingrid promised she would take care of me as if I were her own daughter, but I guess that was just a lie._    And Marcurio — In a way Marcurio was even worse, because he _was_ around but he hardly paid her any more attention than Ingrid.

_They don’t care, and nobody else does either._ Uthgerd, Rayya, Llewellyn: none of them seemed particularly interested in either of the two children. Gunjar the cart man might, but she wasn’t counting on him either. The other adults all seemed to have their own problems, far too many to worry about either her or Lucia.

 

She got to her feet and wandered to the other end of the patio, thinking dark thoughts. It was pretty clear that Marcurio was going to go back to Cyrodiil, sooner rather than later. She guessed if he took one of them it would be Lucia, but Lucia had already said she was going to run away as soon as Marcurio and Ingrid split up. _And what about me?_

 

Sofie supposed she could stay at Lakeview; here at least she would have a roof over her head and food to eat. _Even if Ingrid doesn’t remember I exist …_  The thought of staying here, ignored and forgotten, seemed unbearable. _I’d rather be back on the streets._ The idea of returning to Windhelm ran through her mind again; or perhaps one of the other cities. Morthal was nearby; Falkreath; Markarth ....

 

She looked over the edge of the patio. From this vantage point, she could see the standing stones surrounding the altar. Jehan would be down there, she knew, working on — whatever it was he worked on when she was away. _What does he do, on the days he tells me not to come down, I wonder?_ He’d never said.

_If Jehan took me in …_ He cared about her, she knew he did — he showed her things, let her help him with his work, answered her questions … taught her magic …

_Jehan doesn’t think I’m no good at magic because I’m a Nord. He keeps his word. He doesn’t make promises and then forget them._ She turned toward the targets, biting her lip.

_He teaches me. Not like Marcurio. Marcurio said he’d teach us magic, and he’s not even here now._ The hot anger in her surged. It didn’t surprise her — she’d had enough experience with adults to know that just because they promised things didn’t mean those things came true — but even after all this time it still hurt.

_He said he’d teach us magic, but he’s not even keeping **that** promise. How can I trust either him or Ingrid to keep a promise about taking care of me?_

 

She stared at the straw targets. They seemed almost to be mocking her, as she thought of her earlier failure.

_Jehan taught me how to do lightning — and it **worked.** _ She suddenly wanted to do lightning right then, to prove that she could — to show Marcurio that she’d learned it, that she could do it as good as Lucia could.

_If he won’t bother to teach me magic I’ll do it myself._ After all, she was supposed to have had a magic lesson that day. _Maybe if I do it on my own — if he **sees** me doing it — _

 

The thought spurred her on. She went to the end of the patio and took position opposite the targets. She remembered Jehan’s instructions as she closed her eyes. _Look **behind** what Marcurio showed you. Look **behind** it to the energy that permeates the world. _

 

She looked, and it was there, that vast, silent, quiescent force, somehow watching and waiting for her. She reached for it tentatively, as Jehan had told her to do.

_Think of the force of lightning within you and convert the energy to become like that force …._ The memory of practicing with Jehan came back to her, and a stalk of lightning branched out from her fingers, sizzling across the patio to sear into the targets.

_I did it!_ A surge of triumph filled her. _And that was even better than Lucia’s!_ The dark stain of the lightning strike on the straw target, filled her with a drilling sense of accomplishment. _If only Marcurio had seen me do it._

 

That dark anger welled up in her again. The watching, waiting energy seemed to surge with her emotions, and she struck out again, watching the bright blue bolt sizzle across her sight. It felt good to see that fire strike out; it felt like she was striking back against her life, against the fact that Ingrid didn’t seem to want her and that her home was breaking up. _Again_. The lightning burned and flared, and the anger in her flared too, as if they fed on each other. _Again,_ and another crackle of energy burned across the patio.

 

She was so lost in the feelings of anger and triumph and joy, watching the bolts sear blue-white across her vision, that she didn’t hear the patio door slam open. She didn’t even know Marcurio was there until he grabbed her arm and yanked her around.

_“Sofie!”_

 

Marcurio’s face was black and thunderous, his brows drawn together in a ferocious scowl. Sofie’s breath caught as if on a thorn; all of that anger suddenly froze into icy fear. Questions thronged in her mind — _where did he come from? How did he —_ She had never seen him so angry, and she cowered back from him.

 

“F-father?” she faltered, uncertain. “I thought you were upstairs in the library — “

 

Marcurio glared down at her, his fine russet eyes flashing. “ _What did you do?_

 

“I — I — “ she stammered uselessly. “I was practicing lightning, like you showed us — did you want me to wait for you? You seemed busy so I thought I would just work on my own — I wanted to show you I could do it — “

 

If anything, his expression only grew angrier. _“Where did you learn that?”_ he demanded. _“Tell me now!”_

 

“L-Learn?” Her mind went blank — yet even in the blankness, she somehow felt she had to avoid mentioning Jehan. “I don’t understand — learn what? I don’t — “

 

Marcurio’s scowl blackened. Sofie’s words failed her, and she couldn’t think of anything else to say. “I’m sorry, Papa!” she cried helplessly and began to weep.

 

That must have been the right thing to do. Marcurio’s face softened, and he knelt down to her level. He put his hands on her shoulders while she sniffled and rubbed at her eyes with the backs of her hands. “It’s all right, Sofie,” he told her gently. “I didn’t mean to frighten you and I’m sorry. All right?”

 

He waited patiently while Sofie tried to get herself under control, but behind the tears, her mind was working rapidly -- what could she tell him?

 

After she had calmed down, Marcurio lifted her chin and looked her directly in the eyes. “Sofie, this is very important,” he said. “Where did you learn how to do what you were doing?”

 

“I — “ She swallowed. “I don’t understand,” she said, pretending innocence. “I was just doing lightning — remember how you were trying to teach us? I was just — “

 

“I know you were doing lightning, but you weren’t doing it the way I taught you.”   Marcurio was still patient — but there was a dreadful sternness in his face that chilled her. “I could feel what you were doing all the way from up in the library tower. You need to tell me the truth: Where did you learn how to do that?”

 

“I — I — “ Sofie’s mind groped as she struggled to find an explanation that would not involve Jehan. Her lips trembled — _what can I tell him but the truth?_ But just as she was about to blurt out the story of Cotton and the path and the pale, quiet, thoughtful young man at the end of it, her mind suddenly showed her a picture of Marcurio’s library tower.

 

“The — the library!” she stammered. “I — I was having such a hard time learning to do lightning that I thought I would — I would see if I could find anything in the library! I found this book and — the book described how to do that, so I thought I would try it!”

 

Marcurio’s forehead creased. “Which book was it? Sofie, you have to tell me.”

 

“I — I don’t remember, honest!” Surprised that she was able to lie so well, she continued, “It was full of hard words, I didn’t understand most of what it was talking about, I think — “ _What’s a good title for a book on magic?_ “I think the title said something about Arts? I don’t remember — “

 

“Arts …. “ Marcurio scowled. “Damn. There are a couple that one could be,” he muttered to himself. “I knew having those books around would be a problem …. “

 

Sofie felt herself relax a bit now that it seemed his anger was no longer directed at her.  “Did I do something wrong, Father?” she asked.

 

“Hm? Oh — “ He seemed to come back to himself, but that awful sternness did not leave his face. “Sofie,” he told her gently, “know that I’m not angry at you. But you have to understand, this is important. What you were doing was wrong. It was a form of magic called _necromancy_.”

_Necromancy_. Sofie had never heard the word before, but something about it made her shudder.

 

“Necro—necromancy?” she stammered. “What is that?”

 

“It is a form of magic that involves stealing the souls and energy of the living for power for the sorcerer and to bring life to the dead.”   She stared at him blankly. Seeing her confusion, he sighed and clarified, “It’s widely regarded as dark — evil. That’s all you need to know. I don’t ever want to see you doing anything like that again, do you understand?”

 

“I won’t,” she said, chastened. Then as his expression softened, she asked, “But why is it bad?”

 

“It’s bad because — “ He drew a breath and took a seat on a bench, reaching out to put his arm around her. It felt strange — almost like her own father was holding her again. _But he’s **not** my father,_ Sofie remembered, and the difference made her almost want to cry. She looked up at his fine Imperial face — so different from her father’s proud Nord features — and swallowed her tears.

 

“Most magic draws on natural forces,” he explained slowly, as if he were trying to put it into words that she could understand. “Fire, lightning, electricity: all those things already exist in nature, we just ... help them happen, you might say. Even the other schools — Restoration, for example — simply amplify what is already there, the body’s own natural healing processes. They work _with_ the natural world instead of against it.”

_What about Conjuration?_ Sofie wanted to ask, but watching Marcurio’s face, decided to hold her peace.

 

“Necromancy is very different. Do you know what the core of Necromancy is?” he asked her gently, looking down at her. “Did the book you found talk about it at all?”

 

Sofie shook her head, wide-eyed.

 

“Necromancy,” Marcurio explained patiently, “involves a fundamental breaking of the laws of Mundus, of Nirn, of Tamriel, of et’Ada, whatever you wish to call it. It breaks the distinction between life and death.” Seeing her blank look, he clarified, “The main purpose of Necromancy is to bring the dead back to life.”

_Bring the dead back to —_ The words electrified her, ringing in her head like the sound of great bells. _Bring the dead back to life —_ The image of her mother and her father filled her mind. A powerful thrill rushed through her, and she blurted out, without even thinking, “You mean like my parents?”

 

Marcurio’s brows drew down. She could see he was displeased with her, even a little alarmed, and she realized she had said exactly the wrong thing.

 

“No!” he said sternly. “Don’t even _think_ that!”

 

Sofie felt her lower lip tremble, and her eyes grew heavy with tears. To have Marcurio grant her the hope of bringing back her parents, and then in the next breath snatch it away -- it was too much. The tears began to spill over her lower lids again and she struggled not to cry.

 

Marcurio sighed again, and squeezed her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Sofie. I don’t mean to make you upset. But you _must_ understand. Necromancy preys on the hope of bringing back dead loved ones. Yet the hope it offers is false. Necromancy cannot _restore_ the dead to life,” he explained. “All it really does is to infuse the body — the shell of the deceased, as it were — with undifferentiated life energy. It is as if — “ He paused a moment, thinking. “It is as if the body becomes a puppet, something that looks like the deceased, but the heart, mind and soul — everything that made the person who they were — is gone. And furthermore, the energy cannot preserve the flesh, so you are doomed to watch the form of the one you loved decay — waste away .... “ He fell silent, as if lost in thought.

 

Sofie swallowed, hard. “But still — if there were even a chance .... “ She was thinking of how it seemed like Ingrid and Marcurio weren’t really there, that this family was simply the dead shell of the one she had lost. _Would it really be so very different — ?_

 

That serious, alarmed expression crossed Marcurio’s face again. “You say that _now,_ ” he told her sternly. “It would be very different if you ever experienced it. Trust me. I know. I know … “

 

His face grew so bleak that Sofie shivered. She was afraid of him then, of the distance in his eyes, as if he looked on something she could not see. Then he seemed to come back to her. “Necromancy was banned by Arch-Mage Hannibal Traven of the Mages Guild of Cyrodiil in 431. It is not actually illegal in Tamriel, but no reputable magic-user will practice it. It’s not just that it breaks the laws of the world, it — “ He paused again, as if thinking. “It has a corrupting effect on the mind.”

 

“I don’t understand — “

 

“It twists one’s thoughts, taints one’s memories — some say it even steals one’s very soul. In time, so it is said, those who practice necromancy become shells themselves, just like the corpses they raise. It’s _dangerous._ Do you understand?” He gave her a small shake.

 

Now it was Sofie’s turn to fall silent, as she thought of Jehan. She pondered the way he didn’t seem to remember anything about his past — how whenever she asked him, he only frowned in confusion or looked unhappy. _Could it be -- ?_

 

“I understand, Father,” she said.

 

Marcurio studied her for a long moment. “I believe you do,” he said. “ _Now_ do you see why I want you to stay away from Necromancy?”

 

“Yes,” she said, but her lip began to wobble again. She was thinking about her parents -- _A silly idea from a silly girl,_ she thought. _A silly Nord girl who doesn’t understand magic. But I want to so much —_

 

If Marcurio saw her tears, he did not understand their source; his arm tightened around her, feeling like a hollow parody of a hug, one that her erstwhile father might have given. “There, there, Sofie,” he soothed her. “I don’t want you to cry over this, child. It’s not worth crying over. Just remember what I’ve said, all right? I don’t want you anywhere near Necromancy because it’s bad for you. It’s bad for your soul, it’s bad for your heart and it’s bad for those you practice it on. I’ll go through the library tomorrow. I don’t want either of you children reading any more books about this. And if you remember the title of the book you found, tell me, all right? That way I can make sure I put that one away.”

 

Sofie sniffed and nodded. “You’re not mad at me?”

 

“No, Sofie,” he consoled her. “I’m not mad at you but I am concerned. Promise me that you’ll never do that again, all right?”

 

There was really only one answer to make; he looked so stern and determined. Sofie wiped her eyes and nodded.

 

“I promise, Father,” she said. But in her heart, she knew that she lied.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Author’s note:** Second to last chapter. One more after this.

* * *

 

Marcurio never did get around to teaching them any magic that day; instead he went to the library tower to comb the shelves for troublesome volumes. Sofie retreated to her room, hiding under her blankets and pondering what she had been told.

_Necromancy._ So that was what she had been doing. Sofie turned the thought over, staring at the ceiling. _So that is what Jehan is. A necromancer. Is he?_ If he was … She thought about bringing her parents back to life. Marcurio had said they wouldn’t really be her parents, but what if he was wrong? After all, he said himself that necromancy was banned in Cyrodiil. If he hadn’t seen it, then how could he know whether they would be her parents or not? _And if Jehan could do that for me …._

 

What it all came down to, Sofie decided, was that Jehan was her friend. He was closer to her than Marcurio and Ingrid were. He was the one she was counting on to take care of her if -- or when, as was becoming increasingly evident -- Marcurio and Ingrid split up. _You just have to decide,_ she thought, _who your friends are and who they aren’t._

_I’ll ask him. The next time I see him. I’ll ask him about what Marcurio said and whether — whether —_

 

In her mind’s eye, she saw her parents, standing with their arms around each other and smiling at her. She saw herself run to them, and felt the warmth of their embrace. _We’re here for you, Sofie,_ her mother said. _You brought us back. We’re so proud of you, daughter — you brought us back to life, and we will never leave you again. We’re going to be happy. You’ll have a home again. A home …._

 

She remained up there, lost in happy daydreams, as the sun sank lower outside the windows and the lights and shadows in the high roof beams flickered. She didn’t notice that she missed dinner, or that Ingrid never returned that night; and when Lucia finally came up to the room she pretended to be asleep.

 

Cotton snuggled under her arms, and Sofie held her warm, soft rabbit close to her. “Would you like to have a home, Cotton?” she whispered. “It’s going to happen. I promise. A home for you and me.”

 

She fell asleep with Cotton in her arms. A storm was blowing in outside, with wind whistling around the eaves of the house and rain lashing on the tiles, but Ingrid had built well and sturdily; no drop of moisture penetrated the rafters, and the thick, sturdy walls muted the whining wind to an annoying drone. Sofie slept, buried under her warm, thick covers, and dreamed of her parents.

 

* * *

 

 

Sofie woke the next morning to a gray, chill room and the muttered curses of Uthgerd the Unbroken down in the Great Hall. Metallic banging and clashing, along with voices, rose up to her ears from below.

 

“What’s going on?” she murmured, sticking her head out of the covers.

 

“Fire’s gone out,” Lucia yawned, sliding out of bed and putting her feet into her boots. “Uthgerd’s borrowed some coals from Rayya in the entryway to light it again. Storm was pretty bad last night. Gunjar says we’re getting into the stormy season around here.”

_The stormy season._ It occurred to Sofie that if it rained more often, she wouldn’t be able to go see Jehan as much.

_Maybe I’ll just have to run away sooner to find him,_ she thought, and smiled to herself, a secret smile.

 

Ingrid was in the main hall when she went down for breakfast, with that sardonic Teldryn Sero, so of course Marcurio wasn’t there. Ingrid seemed in a relatively good humor as she gulped a bowl of ash yam stew — something she’d started making with these strange ash yams that she’d brought back from Solstheim — and downed a bottle of mead. “So how’s my little Sofie doing?” she asked cheerfully.

 

“Just fine, Mother,” Sofie said, knowing what Ingrid wanted to hear; at first she had felt a chill, wondering if Ingrid had noticed her Daedric sword and dagger missing, but Ingrid seemed no different than usual. _Honestly,_ Sofie thought, _she has so many weapons, there’s no way she could notice one or two missing._

 

Sofie knew better than to ask where Marcurio was; she confined herself to eating her breakfast -- a sweet roll — in silence as Ingrid discussed her plans for the day with Teldryn. She said nothing about where she’d been last night, and Sofie didn’t ask. She was worried Marcurio might have told Ingrid about her experiments with necromancy the day before; but; Ingrid didn’t say a word about it, so Sofie guessed with relief that she didn’t know.

_Or if she does know … maybe she doesn’t even care._

 

“So, what are you up to today?” Ingrid asked her.

 

The question sent a chill down her spine. For a mad moment, she was tempted to tell Ingrid everything: about Jehan, about Necromancy, about the Daedric weapons. Instead, she said, trying to sound casual, “I think I’d like to go play in the woods today, with Cotton. I was thinking I’d leave before noon. I might not be back till evening, if that’s all right.”

 

Llewellyn the Nightingale started to speak up, but Ingrid cut him off with a boisterous laugh.   “Just be sure to take that dagger I gave you in case you run into any bears. Or bandits.” She grinned. “And if you do run into any bandits, remember what Rayya showed you — stab low.”

 

Llewellyn frowned but said nothing; though he had wanted to resume their lessons, Sofie knew he could not speak against Ingrid. He confined himself to a simple, “Be careful, Sofie — it looks rainy today. Try not to be caught out in a thunderstorm.”

 

Ingrid waved one hand dismissively. “She’ll be fine. I was her age when I first started roaming the woods around Eastmarch. Just bring back something to show for it, kid. A fox pelt -- or maybe bear claws,” she said, and flashed a grin.

 

“I’ll try, Mother,” Sofie said dutifully.

 

Sofie was on pins and needles throughout the rest of breakfast. It was important that she get the Daedric artifacts before she went to visit Jehan, and she wanted Ingrid to be gone before she did; but she was also afraid if she waited too long, Lucia might catch her. It was a relief when Ingrid pushed back from the long table and summoned Teldryn with a gesture.

 

“I’m going out hunting,” she said — speaking to Llewellyn, not Sofie. “I don’t know when I’ll be back. Tell Marcurio if you see him.” There was a notable coolness in her tone when she spoke of her husband.

 

Llewellyn nodded acquiescence and Ingrid strode from the hall, Teldryn following her lazily.

 

Sofie waited a decent interval, finishing her breakfast slowly while trying not to let on that she was deliberately stalling. When she heard Lucia’s feet coming down the stairs on the left side of the great hall, she quickly got up. “Well, time for me to go do my chores,” she told Llewellyn, who was strumming listlessly at his lute. Llewellyn gave her a distracted nod, and didn’t notice that Sofie slipped up the stairs opposite from the ones Lucia was coming down.

 

Those stairs were on the same side as Ingrid’s and Marcurio’s bedroom; Sofie paused at the top of the stairs, waiting to see if Marcurio was in the room. The room seemed empty; she suspected he was in the library tower again, or maybe out on the roof. _Wouldn’t be surprised if he’d spent the night there,_ she thought. Moving on tiptoe, she slipped along the walkway across the breadth of the hall to the other side, and proceeded to her and Lucia’s room. She paused, hearing Llewellyn say something and Lucia’s higher voice raised in response. _She’s down there,_ Sofie assured herself. She got down on her knees and pulled the Daedric Sword and Daedric Dagger out from under the bed.

 

They lay there on the floor, their lines of red tracery glowing faintly. Again, Sofie felt a sinister sensation from them; this time, thinking about what Marcurio had said, she couldn’t suppress a shudder.

_What does Jehan want these for, anyway?_ _Can anything good really come from the use of weapons like these?_

 

Their red, glowing highlights pulsed slightly, almost as if in answer.

_No,_ she told herself abruptly. _They can’t possibly know my thoughts. I’m not even touching them. That’s ridiculous._ Yet somehow, gazing down at them, her unease grew.

_Ingrid uses Daedric weapons. She even Enchants them, just like Jehan wants to do, and nothing’s wrong with **her,** now, is there? She’s … _

 

But the thought trailed off. She also recalled — distantly — that Marcurio had had some difficulties with Ingrid using Daedric weapons and armor, and in fact she thought she had heard that he had refused a set of Daedric armor made for him. _Why would he do that if there was nothing wrong with them?_

 

A sound from below made her flinch. _All right, that’s enough,_ she told herself. _You can’t stay here staring at these weapons all day. Quickly, before someone catches you — Move!_

 

That, however, was easier said than done. While she could smuggle the dagger out of the house in a fold of her skirt, she wasn’t sure what to do with the sword. At last, she simply wrapped the thing in a burlap sack, hoping nobody would notice her on the way out; if they did, she would say it was the wooden training sword Ingrid had given her once. _I guess all I can do,_ she thought, _is hope no one sees me._

 

Biting her lip, she lifted the wrapped sword to her shoulder. It was _heavy,_ and she staggered under the weight. Through the burlap, there came a strange, pulsing heat that made her want to recoil

 

Going down the front stairs was impossible; Llewellyn would see her and ask uncomfortable questions. Instead she went to the door that opened to the rooftop patio at the back of the house. Sofie carefully opened the door a crack, peeked out, and saw no one. She stepped out —

 

“Sofie?”

_Oh no …_ With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she turned to see the housecarl Rayya, out on the patio with her bow drawn, practicing archery against the straw targets at the far end of the roof. Rayya looked over at Sofie. “What are you up to?”

 

“I — I — “ Sofie stammered for a moment, her mind blank. Finally, mercifully, an idea came to her. “I’m carrying some stuff down to the cart for Gunjar the cart-man. I thought I heard him say he was going to Falkreath today and I wanted to put some things in the cart for him to trade — “

_She’ll never believe this,_ she thought helplessly. There was no way that Rayya wouldn’t see through the lie immediately — but as Sofie looked more closely, she realized Rayya wasn’t even listening to her. She could have said anything, even the exact truth.

 

“All right, well, be careful,” Rayya said, turning back to the targets. “If you go with him, be sure he gets you back in time for dinner tonight — I think your mother will be there with you.”

 

“She won’t be,” Sofie said, surprised at the bitterness in her voice; she knew she shouldn’t linger, but couldn’t stop herself. “Ingrid’s gone for the day and she might not even get back by tomorrow.”

 

The Redguard woman’s brows drew together. “Well … be sure to be home for dinner tonight anyway,” she said. “If Ingrid is here, she might want to see you.”

_Not likely,_ Sofie thought, but said nothing. Instead she simply nodded and went on down the stairs.

 

* * *

 

 

The sky was gray and overcast, and the air smelled like rain. Everything was wet and muddy. Sofie took a quick glance around to see that nobody was watching, and then crossed the yard, heading for the path that would take her to Jehan.

 

The steep track was slippery; Sofie picked her way carefully, catching herself a couple of times with the long Daedric blade. Though she hurried on, a strange ambivalence filled her. _Necromancy. Is it true? Could Jehan really — ?_

 

Rain dripped down the back of Sofie’s neck, soaking her clothes. The awkward Daedric sword pulsed on her shoulder and seemed to grow heavier as she carried it. She was panting and streaked with mud by the time she reached the end of the trail and staggered, gasping, onto the stone platform that housed Jehan’s altar.

 

“Jehan?” she called, panting. “Jehan? Je — “

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

The question caught her up short. Her eyes found Jehan’s familiar black-robed figure standing by the altar, and she flinched; there was a strange, wild ferocity of a kind she had never seen before in his face. He was holding an iron dagger in his hand, and for a moment she thought he was going to come at her with it.

 

“Jehan!” Sofie cried, feeling a flush of almost overwhelming emotion — not just fright, but also hurt, hurt that a man she thought she had trusted could turn on her this way. “Jehan, it’s me! Don’t you recognize me? It’s me, Sofie … “

 

“Sofie … “ Slowly that wild ferocity faded from his eyes, and the man she had known seemed to creep back. “Sofie … yes, Sofie … “ he repeated to himself. “But what are you doing here?”

 

“I — “ She stammered helplessly. “I came — I’m sorry I couldn’t come before, I couldn’t get away. I brought you the Daedric sword and dagger, like I said I would — see?” She let the bundle fall to the ground; the sack unrolled, revealing the red-chased blade; then took the dagger out of the folds of her skirt. “The sword and dagger, just like I said … Jehan?” It was as if he weren’t there at all, somehow — as if his eyes opened onto a lightless black hole. It frightened her and she took a step back.

 

But as he saw the blades she had brought, slowly that emptiness filled. “Yes. The Daedric blades … I remember now. You said you’d bring them and … and you did.” The words were softly wondering, as if he could barely believe she had actually done it.   “You did,” he repeated, more strongly, and that shy smile touched his lips again. “Thank you, Sofie. This will be a great help to me. But … “ His gaze grew distant again. “You shouldn’t have come.”

 

“Oh.” Sofie bit her lip. A shadow seemed to fall across the sun. “Are you busy?”

 

“Well … no, not exactly,” he said slowly. He glanced at the sky again and counted on his fingers. “I suppose today is all right. But it’s not going to be a very good time for you to be here in a few days.”

 

“Oh.” That chill deepened “Why?”

 

“Well, I — “ He hesitated, considering his words. “Let’s just say I’m going to be very busy.”

 

“Oh.” Sofie swallowed. “I can — if you want I can leave now so that you can work on your own … “

 

“No! No — “ Jehan hastened to reassure her. “No, not now. You can stay here today. Today is all right,” he repeated, as if for emphasis. “Yes. Today is all right.”

 

He knelt to take the sword and the dagger, wincing slightly at their touch; he tilted them this way and that, examining the red lines of light that flickered over the blades. “Yes, these are Daedric for certain. “Thank you very much, Sofie. These will help speed up my work greatly.”

 

“You’re welcome.” She felt a flush of pleasure despite her earlier uneasiness. As Jehan carried the blades into the cave, Sofie followed at his heels. She frowned, thinking. The mention of his “work” rang in her mind.

_His work. Marcurio said it was … **necromancy.** Could that be?_ She studied his pale features in the shadows of the cave as he laid the blades out on the work table. _Could it really be true?_

 

“Jehan?” she asked him carefully.

 

“Yes?” He did not look up, his concentration rapt as he traced the lines of red embedded in the Daedric blades with his thin fingers. They flared in response to his touch, brightening, then darkening again.

_As if they were calling to him,_ she thought, and shivered.

 

“I tried summoning lightning the way you taught me.”

 

“Oh, did you?” He didn’t spare her a glance, all his attention rapt in the blades.

 

“Yes. At home, up at Lakeview Manor.” She pointed to the house on the hill, though Jehan wasn’t looking at her. “It worked just like it had before. I was able to cast it even better than Lucia could have.”

 

“Well, that’s good,” Jehan murmured absently.

 

“Yes. Except — Except Marcurio caught me at it.”

 

“Oh, did he?” was all Jehan said, still absorbed in his work.

 

“Yes. He was very angry at me,” she managed, swallowing hard at the memory. “He said that I should never do it again. He said it was something called — “ She drew another breath, trying to find the courage. “Something called ‘necromancy.’”

 

If she had expected a dramatic reaction, she didn’t get it; Jehan simply nodded. “I see,” he said. Sofie was seized with the incredibly frustrating idea that he wasn’t listening to her at all — that she could have said anything, and he would have answered her in that same, slightly distracted tone.

_He’s ignoring me too — just like Ingrid — just like Marcurio --_

 

A rush of anger surged in Sofie’s gut. She didn’t notice it, but the red lines on the Daedric blade flashed in unison with her surge of anger. She marched over to where Jehan stood at the table and grabbed his arm, pulling on him, forcing him to look at her.

_“Jehan!”_

 

Now she got the reaction she had been looking for. He yanked free and swung to face her, raising one hand; the purple-black sphere of Conjuration flared around his fingertips. His stance was so aggressive that Sofie shrank back; yet she saw the familiar, bemused, faintly baffled look in his eyes —- the one that said, _Who are you and how did we get here again?_

 

“Jehan!” she repeated. “It’s me, Sofie. Remember? _Sofie._ ”

 

“Sofie. Yes. Sofie.” He relaxed as recognition seeped back into his face, and the sphere of Conjuration died. “What is it?” he asked, in the same gentle, courteous tone he usually used with her.

 

“Didn’t you hear what I said? What _Marcurio_ said?”

 

“Marcurio.” He frowned a moment. “Oh yes, the Imperial battle-mage. What did he say about what?”

 

She took a tight grip on her rising irritation. “Do you remember? I said I did the lightning you had taught me back at the house, and it worked — it worked even better than when Lucia did the lightning. But — Marcurio caught me at it, and he said that what I was doing was something called — called ‘necromancy.’”

 

This time it sank in; Jehan considered for a moment, then nodded. “Is that so,” he said politely, before turning back to the Daedric weapons.

 

“Jehan — is it true?”

 

“Is what true?”

 

“Is what you taught me — necromancy? Is that what you taught me about how to make lightning?”

 

“Essentially, yes,” Jehan said without looking around.

 

A chill ran down Sofie’s spine. _He says it as if it’s so normal …_  Somehow that frightened her more than anything else he could have said. “Jehan …. “ Her voice broke.

 

That seemed to get his attention; his kind, somewhat vague eyes lifted from the dagger. “Is something wrong?”

 

“Is it true? Are you a — a necromancer?” She could barely speak the word. “Because if you are I don’t know if I can still come to visit you. I don’t even know if I _should._ Marcurio says — “

 

“ _Marcurio_.” The level of contempt in his voice startled her; she fell silent. Jehan sighed. “Yes, Sofie, I am a necromancer — that is to say, I practice necromancy. Or rather, the art the Imperial mages of Cyrodiil have deemed ‘necromancy,’” he said dryly. She could sense the irony in his voice. “Does that answer your question?”

 

Sofie could barely speak. The ground seemed to have dropped away from under her feet; she felt as she would have if she had learned that someone close to her — a relative, perhaps — were a murderer.

 

“Are you afraid, Sofie?” he asked.

 

There was an almost child-like naivete in the question that made Sofie feel a little better — but not much. “Marcurio said — Marcurio said necromancy was bad,” she said, swallowing hard.

 

“Yes, the Imperial mages have never cared for this field of study very much. They don’t understand it, Sofie, you see,” he explained gently, “and so they fear and hate what they don’t understand. Nor have they bothered to learn anything about it beyond their wrong ideas.”

 

That strange darkness came into his face again, frightening her. She swallowed, thinking hard — thinking about Jehan, and about Marcurio and Ingrid and everyone else back at the _stedding,_ weighing them against each other.

_If he is a necromancer … is that really so bad?_

 

“Are you all right, Sofie?” Jehan asked her, and the evident concern in his voice was enough to bring her to the edge of tears.

 

“Yes, but — I guess, I just don’t understand, Jehan,” she confessed, blinking furiously. “Marcurio says necromancy is bad, but you’re saying he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I guess I just don’t know what to believe.”

 

Jehan nodded, and thought for a moment, considering her question. “Well,” he said at last, “why don’t you ask me about necromancy and then you can decide for yourself which is better?”

 

“I guess that makes sense,” Sofie agreed hesitantly, yet somewhat relieved.

 

“What would you like to ask first?”

 

“What _is_ necromancy, exactly? Marcurio said it had something to do with — “ She tightened her fingers in her skirt, trying to remain in control. “With raising the dead.”

 

Jehan smiled obligingly and that smile warmed her. “Marcurio is essentially correct, but his understanding is incomplete — as is common for Imperial mages,” he added with a trace of scorn.   “While it is the most visible aspect, raising the dead is only one of the things that make necromancy unique. In reality, our field is a completely different way of approaching magic from most of the other schools in Tamriel. It shares some similarities with the other schools — Conjuration, for example, is very closely related to it, as is Alteration — but it differs from all of them.”

 

“How is it different?” Sofie asked. As Jehan warmed to his subject, Sofie felt her own unease slipping away. She took a seat on a nearby rock; Jehan seemed to relax too. Sofie guessed intuitively that Jehan was enjoying a chance to tell her about his field. His expression was grave and intent; it reminded her of Llewellyn the Nightingale during their lessons.

 

“The other schools of magic,” Jehan explained somewhat pedantically, “accept a common set of assumptions about the way the world works and where power comes from and what sorts of things can and can’t be done with it. I remember being told the reason for this was because it was required for the power source they draw on, the magicka left behind by Magnus; I can’t be sure that’s true or not, but it has always seemed to make sense to me.”

 

“Who told you that?” Sofie asked; then winced as that vague, confused, slightly sad expression came over his face.

 

“I — I don’t know,” he said after a moment. “I can’t — “

 

“Well, it’s not important,” Sofie hastened to assure him, feeling almost as if she were the elder one reassuring _her_ student. “Please, go on.”

 

“Go on. Yes. What were we discussing? Oh, yes,” he said, seeming to recall himself. “The foundation of necromancy. Yes, it’s been — been said,” he said, faltering slightly but then recovering “ — that the reason the other schools of magic feel they have to abide by those rules is because of the power source they use, the energy of Magnus, left behind when he created the world. Because their magic is so tied to the creation of the world, they are perforce limited by the laws of the world and cannot work around them or ignore them.”

 

“And — and necromancy can?”

 

“Yes,” said Jehan. “Do you remember what I taught you when I showed you how to summon lightning — the power source I taught you to draw on?”

 

“Yes,” Sofie said, nodding. “The life force of living things that had left their bodies when they died.”

 

“Exactly,” said Jehan, and he smiled again. Seeing that smile made Sofie feel as if she had slain a dragon; she couldn’t help but smile back. “Because necromancy draws on a different power source, the laws it uses are different. Conjuration touches on this field a little, but it does not explore the breadth and depth of the implications as freely as necromancy does. You will find some necromantic spells sheltering under the auspices of Conjuration,” he added thoughtfully, “most likely because they are of such long standing they couldn’t be left out, but most _reputable_ conjurers — “ there was a strange lilt to the word _reputable_ “ — will not touch those spells.

 

“One of the main laws it ignores is the largest: the law that separates the boundary between life and death. Necromancers can bend and break that line itself, bringing the dead back to life. Think of it, Sofie!” His voice was soft with awe. “We who practice this school of magic can take those who are dead and make them stand, and walk, and live again, almost as if they had never died! _That_ is why necromancers are hated and feared across all of Tamriel,” he added, his voice lowering. He sounded — Sofie tried to analyze it — he sounded almost as if he had forgotten she were there, as if he were speaking to himself, perhaps reciting something he had come up with over long days and longer nights of brooding in his tiny cavern. “People are afraid of necromancers because they don’t understand. They like things to be set into neat little boxes — _this_ is alive, _this_ is dead — and they don’t know how to deal with ambiguity. They are jealous of our power, believing it to be wrong, and not understanding that really, it is no more wrong and evil than their own — less so, in fact, for if you look at it a certain way, we, necromancers, function just like those mages who practice Restoration; we too save lives, only in a different way. But it is the truth, Sofie,” he said, turning back to her. “That is the secret of a skilled necromancer — he or she knows there really _is_ no difference between life and death, except for some arbitrary distinctions— the presence of a pulse, the need to breathe, to eat, to drink. Ignore those tiny details, and really, who is to say what’s alive and what’s dead? We necromancers see this, and we therefore see more clearly than those of the Imperial or Cyrodiilian schools of magic. Do you understand?”

 

Sofie bit her lip, trying to take in everything he had said, working at it with her mind. “I — I _think_ so,” she said carefully. “Necromancy can do things other schools can’t because it is not bound by the laws of this world? And that’s why people don’t like it?”

 

“Yes,” he said, smiling again.

 

“I — I _guess_ that makes sense,” she said , thinking hard. “But — but Marcurio said that those who practiced necromancy became corrupted by it in the end.”

 

She looked up at Jehan hopefully, wanting him to tell her it wasn’t the case. _But the way he explains it makes so much sense,_ she thought vaguely. _And besides — Jehan is so nice to me — he can’t be bad, can he?_

 

Irritation crossed his delicate features. “Yes, I’ve heard that rumor before — that necromancy corrupts people. It’s nonsense. Yet there is a seed of truth in it,” he added thoughtfully. “It is true that those who practice necromancy, after a time, come to — to think in a different way than others. It _does_ change you, though I would not call it _corruption,_ ” he added, grimacing. “Yet I would not say it changes you more than learning any other art changes you. Acquiring _any_ new skill changes you, magical or not,” he said earnestly. “Gaining knowledge you did not have before makes you see the world in a different way. That’s what life _is,_ the accumulation of knowledge. Wouldn’t you agree?”

 

“Ye-es,” Sofie said dubiously; she felt that was not what Marcurio had meant, but did not know how to say it. Jehan seemed to see her hesitation.

 

“I practice necromancy,” he said. “Aren’t I all right, Sofie?”

 

“Yes,” she agreed with more confidence.

 

Again, he smiled, that gentle, wistful smile. “I’m glad,” he said. “I would be sad if you didn’t think I was all right. I think of you as a — a friend.” He said the word strangely, as if he were not used to it; perhaps as if it were one he had not said in a long time.

 

“I think of you as a friend too,” she said impulsively, and was rewarded by a flash of something — she thought it was happiness — across his face. “So is that what you’ve been doing down here? Trying to raise the dead?”

 

“Yes,” he said, sounding obscurely pleased; Sofie had the impression that he liked the chance to talk to another about what he was doing. “Come here, and I’ll show you.”

 

She followed him to the altar, which was covered by a cloth. Jehan whisked it back, and gestured. Sofie stepped forward, and took a closer look — then flinched back. A skeleton lay on the altar, surrounded by embalming tools; a silver goblet stood at its head, next to a dark purple stone. The bones were entwined with wreaths of flowers and herbs; magic scrolls, potions and a few books were piled in untidy heaps.

 

But her eyes kept returning again and again to the bones — and to the dark purple stone.

_Human bones,_ she thought, and did not quite dare to wonder where he had gotten them. _And that gem — that Soul Gem. It looks like a —_  Like a Black Soul Gem.

 

Sofie had seen filled Black Soul Gems before; Ingrid had many of them, stored in a strongbox in her Enchanter’s tower. They had always given Sofie a chill, but Ingrid had told her those gems had all been filled during fights with bandits, mercenaries, or other brigands that had attacked her. _Bad people_. Where Jehan had gotten this one, she had no idea.

_What if he filled it himself?_

 

Well, and if he had, so what? Sofie knew from listening to Ingrid and Marcurio that when Soul Trap was cast, the captured soul would go into any empty gem large enough to hold it. Even if it _was_ filled, it didn’t necessarily mean that a _human_ soul was in it. But still she found herself shivering at the sight of it.

 

“What — What is all this stuff?”

 

“The tools of my art,” Jehan said. “A soul gem to hold the soul I will need for the ritual; tools and potions to prepare the body and give me strength; the books containing the instructions I need to do this — “ He paused, his face shadowing. “I am only an Adept-level necromancer. This rite may be almost beyond my strength. Yet still everything is in readiness, and when the stars fully align and I am finally able to attempt it, I know that I will succeed. I _must_ succeed.”

 

He swept his gaze over the altar again, and now Sofie saw a strange pride in his demeanor. And behind that pride, that obscure darkness — but surely that was her imagination.

 

Her eyes were drawn back to the Black Soul Gem — and to the bones. The implications of the two pressed at her mind.

 

Jehan was still speaking. “The books, I’ve been compiling myself over my work as a necromancer; others were handed down to me from my — From my master, yes,” he said finally. “The books are very important. My instruction was not — “ He looked confused again. “My instruction was not complete,” he said to himself. “No, it was not, was it? And so the books will have to substitute for what my master did not have time to teach me.”

 

That confusion in his face was blended with sadness, and for a moment, Sofie felt deeply sorry for him; a terrible pity so deep it almost moved her to tears.

 

“The tools are necessary also,” he said, “for preparing the body and readying it. The potions you have helped me with, Sofie,” he said with a warm smile. He moved to pick up one of the bottles, studying it, holding it up to the light. “It was difficult,” he murmured as if to himself, “and I did not know if I could do it, but I think — I _think_ — I have done correctly. I have learned much — so much …. “

 

He trailed off for a moment, seeming lost in thought. Sofie swallowed, gathering her courage.

 

“Where did you get the — “ She drew a breath. “The Black Soul Gem?”

 

“This?” Again, that flush of pride bloomed in his eyes, and for a moment, Sofie was afraid. “Obtaining this was perhaps the most difficult of all. I heard rumors … I searched for months, maybe even years,” he said, uncertainly. “I searched in the deepest crypts, the most out-of-the-way places, ruined forts, high mountain peaks — yes,” he said, frowning, confused. “I searched — it was surely _I_ who searched, was it not? — and finally I found it, deep in the bowels of a Hag-Raven nest … There were three of them … defeating them took all my strength. I still have the scars …. But in the end, I found the Soul Gem, and even better, it was filled … just as the rumors had said. The right one — it has to be. It _has_ to be. I had it then — just what I needed for my work … “

 

A wave of relief washed over Sofie. _It was already filled,_ she thought. _He didn’t fill it himself, he found it that way._

 

But that wasn’t all. After all, it wasn’t just the Soul Gem Jehan had that worried her. Her eyes were drawn to the altar where the skeleton lay.

 

“And — “ She shifted in unease. “And the — the bones?”

 

And again, Jehan’s face clouded. “I … I’m afraid I don’t really remember,” he said uneasily. He raised one hand to his forehead. “I think … “ That vagueness increased. “My master. She fell in battle. There were — What was it, again? I cannot — Werewolves, perhaps … vampires? I don’t know … “ He looked very tired all at once, and his eyes darkened. “Her bones. I gathered them … I thought that maybe — perhaps — “

 

A knot that Sofie hadn’t been aware of untied within her. _His master,_ she thought. She suddenly felt a great deal better about Jehan and his experiments. “So they’re her bones?”

 

“I — I _think_ so. But it’s all a fog, I can’t be — “ He stopped. It seemed as if Sofie could hear an almost audible _twang_ , as if the thread of memory he was drawing on had snapped like an overloaded lute string. A strange expression crossed his face, and he pressed a hand to his temples. “My head hurts,” he said suddenly.

_If that’s what he thinks, then that’s got to be right,_ she thought, and was filled with a burst of generosity for him. “Did you care for your master?”

 

“Very much,” he answered. “She taught me everything I know.”

 

“How did you meet her?”

 

“I don’t remember.” He frowned, looking tired and cross. “I said, my head hurts,” he said somewhat querulously.

 

“I’m sorry.” She looked at the pile of bones. “But you’re going to try and bring her back?”

 

“Ye-es,” Jehan replied, tentative.

 

“Why? Did she ask you to?”

 

“Because — “ The confusion in his face increased, along with an overwhelming of sadness; for a moment, Jehan appeared to be on the verge of tears. “I don’t know. I think I knew once, but I’ve forgotten.”

 

He looked so sad that Sofie hastened to reassure him. “It’s all right, you don’t have to tell me. I just wanted to ask because — “ And here it was her turn to falter. _Do I dare?_ What if he got angry at her question? Or, even worse, what if he said no? What if he said it was impossible? Her heart quailed.

 

“Sofie?” Jehan asked. “Is something wrong?”

 

“I — “ She summoned her resolve. “I want to ask you something, but I’m afraid you’ll be angry at me.”

 

Jehan smiled. “I can’t imagine anything you could do that would make me angry.”

 

The gentle warmth in his eyes reassured her, and filled her with resolve to go on. “I was wondering — If necromancy is bringing the dead back to life, do you — “ She swallowed hard. “Do you think that maybe — ?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Do you think it would be possible to bring my parents back to life?”

 

“Your parents?” Jehan looked startled, then cast his eyes down as if thinking.

_He hasn’t said no,_ she thought, her hopes hanging by a thread. _He hasn’t said —_ His next question reassured her even more.

 

“How long ago did they die?”

 

Her heart was in her throat; she was so filled with hope she could barely breathe. “A couple years — a little bit more than two years next Loredas.”

 

“What did they die of?” was his next question.

 

“The wasting sickness. First one, then the other.” They had died within hours of each other. Neither one of them had even known Sofie was there at the end. It had filled her with cold terror, seeing her father look right through her without any recognition; hearing her mother, who had been a member of the Windhelm City Guard, cry out to comrades-in-arms long dead. She had stood by their beds for hours as they grew cold, unable even to think of what to do next. Finally, she’d just turned and walked out of the house, into the cold, stony streets of Windhelm. It had been night and snowing. Sofie hadn’t known where she was going, and hadn’t cared. She’d just walked, and hadn’t looked back.

 

Jehan considered, his eyes shadowing. Sofie waited on tenterhooks. Each breath seemed an effort.

 

“Do you know where their bodies are?”

 

“Is — is that important?” Sofie floundered.

 

“If we have the bodies it will be easier.”

_Easier._ Again, Sofie felt hope dawning within her.

 

“They’re probably in the Hall of the Dead at Windhelm,” she said. “I think the priestess of Arkay would have put them there.”

 

“The Hall of the Dead.” A frown marred Jehan’s brow; Sofie gulped down her fear. “I don’t know ... Windhelm is very far away … and the weather isn’t good this time of year, which will make traveling difficult … and I — “ A faint red flush stained his pale cheeks. “It’s -- difficult -- for me to be among people. It will be very hard to get them out of there — ”

 

Sofie felt tears prickle at her eyes. “Can’t we at least _try_?” she pleaded. “I’ll help you, I’ll do anything if you’ll just tell me what to do — “

 

Jehan’s frown deepened. “I don’t know what there is to _do_. Windhelm’s Hall of the Dead — well, even if we could reach the city, it would be so difficult — “

 

Then he stopped and looked at her closely. That strange expression came over his face again; this time it looked like _concern_. “Still, ‘difficult’ isn’t impossible. And even without the body, there are ways …   Perhaps this is something we could decide later, after I have raised my master,” he said, as if having hit on an idea.

 

“Then you _can_ bring them back after all?” It seemed as if the sun had dawned from behind a cloud; she felt as if she were floating. She moved to embrace him, but the young mage drew back. The look of concern had not left his face.

 

“Well — _sort of._ ”

 

“Sort of? What do you mean, ‘sort of?’”

 

“Well, you have to understand, the resurrection process is … not an exact science,” Jehan said cautiously. “Often, when bringing someone back from the dead — things are lost in the transition.”

 

“What do you mean? What kind of things?” Sofie asked. She was thinking, _I don’t care **what’s** lost, if there’s even a chance of bringing my parents back, I have to take it._

 

“Well, it depends. The tales say the most skilled necromancers could bring someone back almost exactly as he or she had been in life, so that if you did not know they had died, you would never guess it. But, that kind of necromancy hasn’t been possible for millenia. A Daedra might be able to do that, but I — “ The shadow over his face grew darker, more sullen, though Sofie didn’t notice. “I am not a Daedra. I am only a human and not equal to the Daedric princes in power. At least … not yet.”

 

“So what _can_ you do? Can you bring them back or not?” Sofie demanded, then regretted it when she saw Jehan draw back with that strange, hurt expression. “I’m sorry,” she said, feeling somehow like she were the older and more mature of the two of them. “It’s just that … “ She couldn’t go on, almost choked up by tears.

 

Again, Jehan seemed to see it. “It’s all right, Sofie. I know that you weren’t angry. I can raise your parents — at least, I _think_ I can,” he added somewhat dubiously, “but the physical effects of death will be hard to reverse completely. And the mental effects .... They won’t be exactly like they were before.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Among other things, they may not remember much, if anything, about their lives before they died. They may not even remember you, Sofie. He frowned. “Are you sure you can live with that?”

_Nonsense. Of course they’ll remember me._ Sofie couldn’t even imagine what her parents would be like if they couldn’t remember her. “I’m not worried.”

 

Seeing her determination, Jehan sighed. “Well — if you’re sure, then once I have raised my master, we’ll give it a try.”

_He said yes. We’re going to do it. We’re really going to —_ Sofie was so elated she threw herself at Jehan, clutching him around the waist. Jehan recoiled; for a moment, the shadow cleared from his eyes, and he tentatively embraced her back. “I knew you would help me! Oh, Jehan, you’re the best friend I ever had!”

 

“I — I am your friend,” he said tentatively. “I’m your friend, Sofie. And I -I haven’t had a friend in a … a long time,” he said slowly. “A very long time indeed.”

 

That wild happiness still filled Sofie’s veins; she wanted to fling herself at Jehan and embrace him again. There were so many things she wanted to ask him, to talk about, to discuss but a quick glance at the sky forestalled her.

 

“It’s getting late. I have to get back. But I will be down again very soon, all right?” she promised. “And then we can talk about what we’re going to do to raise my parents.”

 

Now a faint frown clouded Jehan’s face. “Well — not too soon. It might be better if you don’t come down for a week or so.”

_We have to wait that long?_ “A week? But why?”

 

“It will just be better.” He glanced at the sky himself. “There are things I have to do, and it would be … difficult … for me to do them with you here. But don’t worry, Sofie,” he said, seeing her disappointment. “When you come back in a week, I’ll be much further along in my preparations and you may be able to help me then.”

 

The thought of helping Jehan — and maybe learning the things she would need to use on her own parents — filled her with more happiness. “I can hardly wait,” she promised.

 

That gentle, soft smile crossed Jehan’s face. “Neither can I,” he said. “It will be … nice … to help someone with my magic for a change. I don’t think I’ve ever done that before. But we will do it, Sofie. We’ll get your parents for you. I promise.” He paused. “Goodbye.”

 

“Goodbye,” Sofie replied, so happy she was almost dancing. She favored Jehan with a bright smile before turning and darting up the path.

 

* * *

 

As she ran up the path toward Lakeview, Sofie’s feet barely touched the ground. She felt happier than she had in a long time, since before her parents died.

_I’m going to get them back_ , she thought to herself. _Jehan is going to bring my parents back to me, and we’ll be a family again. Me, Mother, Father, and Jehan._ She believed, with a child’s naive faith, that the universe was going to be restored. The horrible wrong that had been done could be erased.   The months she had spent on the streets of Windhelm, here at Lakeview — they were just a minor interruption in the otherwise harmonious flow of things. Life would finally, _finally_ get back to normal.

 

She envisioned the bright smile on her mother’s face, the happiness in her father’s eyes; the way they both stretched out their arms to take her into an embrace. _“Sofie,_ ” her mother said, _“we’re so proud of you. We love you so much, and we’ll never leave you again.”_

 

The thought warmed and comforted Sofie all the way up to the vast building on the hill. She was so caught up in her thoughts that when she came in through the front hall door she scarcely noticed Rayya stirring stew at the pot.

 

“You made it in just before I barred the door, child,” Rayya said, startling her. “Did you know your mother is back?”

_Not yet,_ Sofie thought. _But she will be soon._ Aloud she said, “Ingrid?”

 

Rayya nodded. “Yes. She’s in _there_ — “ the housecarl glanced toward the main hall doors, which were closed. “And Marcurio is with her. If you want dinner, you’d better get in there.” And she gave Sofie a significant look.

 

“All right. Rayya?” she asked.

 

“Yes, child?” the housecarl asked, turning back to the boiling pot over the fire.

 

“Thank you,” Sofie said, and stretched up to kiss the Redguard woman on the cheek.

 

Rayya drew back, surprised. “What was that for?”

 

“Just because,” said Sofie — she was so filled with happiness right now she wanted to share it.

 

Inside the great hall, the atmosphere was so icy the blazing fire in the central hearth couldn’t keep the chill at bay. Ingrid was sitting at one end of the long table with Marcurio at the other. Neither one of them spoke. Llewellyn the Nightingale, Uthgerd the Unbroken, that Teldryn Sero person, and Gunjar the cart man were all in the room too, and all of them looked uneasy except for Teldryn Sero. Lucia threw Sofie a gratified look when she came in and squeezed her hand under the table. _“I’m glad you’re here,”_ she whispered as Sofie took her seat. She looked significantly at the opposite ends of the table where Ingrid and Marcurio sat.

 

Sofie squeezed her hand back, but her heart was not in it. The tension didn’t touch her; she felt as if she were detached from it all, an outside observer. She had other things to think about.

 

After dinner, Sofie went up the stairs, took her rabbit Cotton in her arms, and lay down under her covers. Lucia climbed into the other bed. Neither of them spoke to the other; Sofie was not in the mood to talk. Instead, she closed her eyes and hoped to dream of her parents. _I will see you soon …._

 

On the opposite side of the children’s wall, their parents’ bedroom stayed empty. Marcurio was up on the roof of the library tower, measuring the stars and recording his observations; Ingrid was down in the basement with Teldryn Sero, working at the forge, melding iron and steel in the ruddy light of the glowing coals. Uthgerd and Llewellyn slept uneasily on the floor in the storage room at the back of the house, along with Gunjar, and Rayya slept in her bed in the entrance hall. Down in his cave in front of the lake, Jehan sat up, poring over his notes by the light of a single, glowing candle. Outside, the two moons shone down, washing the altar and its bones in their combined light.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Author’s note:** This is the last chapter. For anyone who’s interested, after this, I’m going to try to concentrate on my Fallout: New Vegas / Fallout 3 crossover; I don’t know when it will be finished and ready to post, but it _is_ still being worked on and I have every intention of getting it up at some point. Thanks for anyone who’s been reading this far, and thanks to my wonderful beta, **LadyKate1** , who’s been willing to beta this story even though she’s never played Skyrim!

 

* * *

 

When Sofie came downstairs for breakfast the next morning, she realized she was almost the only one left in the house.

 

“Lady Ingrid’s gone out,” Llewellyn told her. The bard was sitting at the long table alone, with a cup of wine in one hand, strumming his lute morosely.

 

“Where?”

 

“She didn’t say.”

 

“And Father?”

 

“He’s still in the library tower. Said he’s not to be disturbed.” _Again,_ Sofie thought, not that it mattered to her that much anymore.

 

“Where’s Lucia?”

 

“Your sister,” Llewellyn said with elegant frustration, “went to walk the perimeter with Rayya. And how I’m supposed to give you two girls lessons when you’re never in the same place at the same time — “

 

Sofie ignored this. She had carried Cotton down to breakfast with her, and she sat chewing on her piece of Lavendar Tart and thinking. _Lucia’s gone … Ingrid’s gone … Marcurio’s gone … Rayya’s out … what is there to do?_

 

“What day is it?” she asked.

 

“Sundas,” Llewellyn said. “Why?”

_Sundas._ Gunjar took the cart into Falkreath on Sundas to get supplies for the coming week. _I could go with him,_ she thought. _I could get a present for Jehan._ She had some coin saved up; Ingrid was very generous with coin, if not with her time.

 

“Has Gunjar left already?” she asked. “I wanted to go with him and get a few things.”

 

Llewellyn frowned, strumming his lute. “I don’t think so. If you hurry outside you could probably catch him.”

 

“Thanks! If anyone asks — “ not that anyone would, Sofie knew “ — tell them I’m with him.”   Gulping the rest of her Lavendar Tart in two bites, she set Cotton on the floor and dashed for the doors.

 

She flew out into the yard in time to see Gunjar hitching up the big cart horse Star to the wagon. He was a plain-looking man, balding with a large, projecting nose in a face already starting to show the lines of age. What remained of his hair was black, and he had brown eyes set under heavy black brows. He wore a dull green vest over a plain brown tunic and breeches, with boots wrapped to his ankles and leather driving gloves.

 

“Well, hello there, little girl,” he said. “Yer sister around?”

 

“She’s out with Rayya,” Sofie said. She went to Star and scratched the big horse’s nose; the horse blew on her hand with its velvety warm muzzle. “Are you going to Falkreath?”

 

“That I am, child,” he said. “Got a list of supplies for the week.”

 

“Can I come?” she asked.

 

“Does yer Ma know, or yer Pa?”

 

“I told Llewellyn where I’d be going. That’s good enough, right?”

 

“W-e-e-ll … “ Gunjar paused uncomfortably. He had never said anything, but she had gathered that he didn’t like the way Ingrid and Marcurio treated her and Lucia. “As long as Llewellyn knows where you are, I guess you can come along, child. Up here beside me, and we’ll be off.”

 

Sofie climbed up beside Gunjar, who companionably scooted over to make room for her on the hard and splintery wooden seat. “Here you are child,” he said, tossing her a dusty cushion. “Sit on that. It’ll help you.”

 

Sofie slipped the cushion under her. It was old and worn, and so thin it wasn’t much comfort. Gunjar shook the reins and called to the horse. “Gee up there, Star!”

 

Star shook her shaggy mane, and leaned into the traces; the wheels of the cart turned with a lurch, and they started into action.

 

The cart jolted and rattled down around the bluffs to the main cobblestone road. The metal-rimmed wheels rang on the stones. The sky was a clear blue with wisps of clouds; the sun glittered off Lake Ilinalta on their right. Sofie raised her hand to shield her eyes. A light haze hung over the lake, and insects hummed in the air. The air was hot, humid; Sofie could feel herself starting to sweat. As the cart rolled past Lakeview, she glanced up the slight rise to where she knew the standing stones were with the altar. _Is Jehan up there?_ she wondered. _What is he doing?_

 

The cart rolled on, leaving Lakeview behind them. They rode for a while in silence, with only the sound of the wheels and Star’s hooves on the pavement. Sofie had lost herself in thought when Gunjar spoke.

 

“So, young Sofie,” he said. “Things aren’t going so well with your folks.”

 

His words brought her back to herself with a start “They’re not my folks.” There was a bitterness to the words that surprised her.

 

Gunjar chuckled a bit. “That’s what you think, is it? Can’t say as I blame you much myself. I’d likely think the same if I were you.”

 

“You — you would?”

 

Gunjar nodded. “They haven’t been doing right by you, if you ask me. Neither you nor young Lucia. Not that they’d appreciate my saying so, you understand,” he said, casting her a sidelong look.

 

“They won’t hear it from me,” Sofie promised.

 

“Good girl.” Gunjar shook the reins as Star hesitated at a crossroads, then turned. “See Star? She’s a smart girl, she is. Knows the way to Falkreath as well as I do. Better, perhaps. Always does her duty, never complains. Can’t ask for better than that in a horse. Uthgerd has a good eye for horseflesh. She knew what she was doing when she chose this girl.” He sighed. “I’ll miss her.”

 

Sofie guessed he hadn’t meant to say that. She was silent for a long time, as the carriage rolled on and the wheels creaked.

 

“Do you know where Ingrid goes when she doesn’t come home?” she asked at last.

 

Gunjar shook his head slowly. “Were I to guess it, I’d say she’s off in the mountains, hunting perhaps, exploring for new caves or ruins. She’s a wild one, your mother is.”

 

“I wish she’d stay home more,” Sofie said wistfully.

 

“Likely Marcurio wishes it too,” Gunjar said with a chuckle. “Or perhaps not, seeing as how they are when the both of them are together.”

 

Sofie said nothing, but knew he was right. A strange heaviness filled her. _It doesn’t matter,_ she told herself. _Soon I’ll be with Jehan and we’ll bring my parents back. Soon …._

 

“Do you miss Ingrid when she’s gone, child?” Gunjar asked.

 

Sofie swallowed hard. “Sometimes,” she said unhappily. “But sometimes I like it because it’s more peaceful. All she and Marcurio seem to do these days is fight.”

 

“That’s the Nine’s own truth,” Gunjar affirmed. “Gee up there, Star,” he called to the horse again.

 

In that moment, Sofie suddenly had the idea that Gunjar was her friend. The middle-aged cart-man wished her well and wanted to help her. _And,_ Sofie reflected, _with things as they are, I can use all the friends I can get …._

 

“Do you know why they fight all the time?” she asked. “I don’t know what they’re fighting about. And I don’t dare ask Rayya or Uthgerd.”

 

“I don’t know myself. Matter of fact, I’m not sure they know either. That’s sometimes the way of it with men and women, those who love each other — or who thought they used to, a long time ago.”

 

“If they don’t know why they’re arguing, why don’t they stop?”

 

“It’s not that simple.” Gunjar shook his head. “If they were able to stop, then they probably _would_ know why they were arguing. Much like the Stormcloaks and the Imperials,” he added with a shrug. “All they know is, they’ve got to win, even if they don’t know why.”

 

Sofie considered that, and a chill sank into her heart. Somehow, this seemed scarier than anything she had heard from Jehan. She would not have been able to put it into words, but the pointlessness of it, the purposelessness filled her with a nihilistic dread.

_I guess some dead things can’t be brought back_.

 

The cart rolled on through the sun-dappled trees, light and shadow chasing each other through the forest branches, toward Falkreath and the burial grounds of the Nord heroes. She felt as if she were surrounded by morbidness, and a cloud rolled over the sun.

 

“Do you think Ingrid and Marcurio _ever_ loved each other?” she asked after a time, looking up at Gunjar hopefully.

 

Gunjar gave that heavy sigh again, the lines in his old face deepening. “That’s hard to say, child. I wasn’t around when they first wed, being as I was only hired after Lady Ingrid built Lakeview. So I don’t know what they looked like to start with. You know, I used to be an adventurer like your mother?” he asked her.

 

“Really?”

 

“Aye, until I took an arrow in the knee. I know something of the adventuring life. It’s a hard life, even if you’re born to it, like your mother seems to be; for one who’s not, it drags on you after a while.”

 

“You think Marcurio was not born to it?” she asked curiously.

 

Gunjar’s face betrayed an eloquent expression that Sofie could not quite understand — not disgust, exactly, but something close to it. “I think Marcurio is an Imperial from Cyrodiil, and a mage. Imperials are soft men, from soft lands, where living is easy. Some of their soldiers are nearly as good as ours are,” he conceded gruffly, “but their mages are softer still. Not like us Nords, like you and me and Lady Ingrid. Best you remember that, young Sofie,” he told her. “You’re a Nord, and to be a Nord is to be born from ice and snow. It’s what makes us strong.”

 

Sofie nodded, feeling a sudden surge of pride.

 

“Yes,” Gunjar continued, “the adventuring life is hard. It wears on you after a while, always traveling, never having a place to rest your head — makes you want something solid. And what could be more solid than your shield-mate at your side? Many a soldier’s marriage has started that way, and many a soldier’s marriage has failed.”

 

“You think that’s how they — got together?” Sofie asked him.

 

Gunjar shrugged. “Like enough. I know he was your mother’s first follower, even before Borgakh.”

 

“What happened to Borgakh, anyway?” Sofie asked, frowning. “I liked her. She had the best stories. I don’t like this Teldryn Sero as much. He scares me.”

 

“Mayhap it’s best he does, young Sofie,” Gunjar told her. “That Dunmer is a bad man. I’ve seen enough like him to know. I don’t mean as he’s cruel or likes causing pain — though there are those that do, don’t doubt it. But he’s the kind with no heart, no soul. He’d sell his own mother for enough septims. Mark my word on it.” His face twisted. “Dunmer are sneaky, cowards, like to stab you in the back soon as look at you — and they’re proud of it, too. Get a Dunmer to talk to you, and he’ll be the first to tell you how much he enjoys double dealing, making sure he comes out on top. Not for nothing are they called Dark Elves, I’ll tell you — all Elves are treacherous, but Dunmer are the worst. Now Borgakh was an Orsimer, but the Orcs are a different type,” he said, waxing philosophical. “They’re clannish, no doubt about that, and they don’t like outsiders, but they’re a lot like us Nords in many ways, and don’t you forget it.”

 

“How?” asked Sofie, her curiosity piqued.

 

“They truly understand the meaning of honor,” Gunjar said. “I’ve fought with Orcs at my side, and I’ll tell you now, there are no better. If an Orc guards your back, you’re safe. I don’t know what happened to make Ingrid get rid of Borgakh, but I’ll stake my life it wasn’t because Borgakh betrayed her.”

 

“But what about Ingrid and Marcurio?” she asked, trying to return to the subject that haunted her, day and night. “You think they were shield-mates?”

 

“Aye,” he said, “but being shield-mates doesn’t mean you can make a life together.”

 

“Why not?”

 

The lines in Gunjar’s face deepened, and suddenly Sofie had the impression Gunjar was speaking from a depth of experience she had never even guessed at before now.

 

“Life on the trail isn’t much like real life. It’s … _more,_ somehow. There’s always something up ahead — a gang of bandits to kill, treasure to find, a cave to explore, Hagravens to fight. You’re always looking outward, never inward or back. Sometimes I think that’s why your lady mother likes it so much,” he added. “It’s the same with a shield-mate at your side. You go from place to place, and all you have to worry about is the next danger and fighting your way out of it. Yet many a pair of shield-mates has found that fighting well together doesn’t mean they can _live_ well together.” His face lengthened.

 

“Do you — “ Sofie bit her lip uncertainly. “Did you have a shield mate like that?”

 

“Aye, I did. Finest woman you ever saw, an Orc maiden. When it came to settling down together — we just couldn’t make it work. Too different. I think she’s in Markarth now, working the forge there. She was a good girl,” he added dourly. “I just wasn’t enough to keep her happy.”

 

A look of deep melancholy came over him, and Sofie wished she hadn’t said anything. The cart rolled on in silence, its wheels rumbling. After a time, Gunjar perked up.

 

“Like as not, that’s what happened to Marcurio and Ingrid. Look at Marcurio,” he said. “Imperial mage, always with his nose in a book, always studying, not like a proper Nord. If you ask me, he’s only in Skyrim because he can’t go back to Cyrodiil for some reason. Disinherited younger son, or something of the sort. I’ve seen enough of them in my time. Now, Ingrid — she’s a proper Nord, never happier than when she’s cracking heads on the battlefield. No surprise the two of them don’t get along. The only surprise is, they’ve lasted as long as they have.”

 

Sofie knew he was right; she could feel it in her bones.

 

“My guess was,” Gunjar was continuing, “she wanted him because of his fine Imperial breeding; a trophy, as it were. And wouldn’t surprise me none if he wanted her because of her wealth,” he added with a grimace. “See, look: he marries Ingrid, and he can spend his life studying to his heart’s content. Take a look at that library tower he’s got stocked with all those books. And if Ingrid could just spend her life raiding and he spend his life studying — they’d get along fine. The trouble is, they have to live together.”

 

Here Gunjar managed a gruff laugh. Sofie nodded somberly.

 

“Sometimes,” Gunjar continued, “a pair is just a bad match. I think it’s pretty plain to see Ingrid and Marcurio are. Ingrid feels like she’s being tied down, and she won’t stand for it. And Marcurio — well. A husband or wife is still a husband or wife; and believe me, girl, if he ever treated her like she’s treating him now, the heavens would hear of it. Possibly for true, what with that _thu’um_ of hers,” he added with a wry grin.

 

Sofie considered that. “I think you’re right,” she said at last.

 

“Oh?” He looked at her, startled, as if he hadn’t expected her to think of such a thing. “You do, child?”

 

She shrugged. After a moment she looked down. “Lucia and I have eyes to see. We’re not dumb, you know. Even though — though nobody pays much attention to us,” she added, feeling a lump in her throat. “Ingrid is hardly ever here anymore and when she is, she and Marcurio fight all the time. Usually it’s Marcurio yelling at Ingrid for going away, and then Ingrid just ignores him or leaves. I don’t know how much longer it can go on though. And …. “ She trailed off, facing thoughts and concepts so big she couldn’t voice them.

 

“You’re worried, aren’t you, child?” Gunjar asked.

 

Sofie said nothing, but stared over the side of cart, watching the cobbled road flow past.

 

“I’ve often thought — of course, I can’t argue with Lady Ingrid, but for her to treat Marcurio as she does is one thing; he’s a man grown, and can decide for himself as to whether to go or stay. You and Lucia are just young’uns. You _need_ your mother, and she’s not acting much of a mother to you.”

 

Sofie kept silent, though she swallowed hard.

 

“I’ll tell you, child,” Gunjar said, “I’ve thought on this for a time. If Ingrid leaves, or Marcurio does — I’ve been thinking I might as well go too. Head to Falkreath for good, mayhap, try to start a cart service there. I’ve got a sister living nearby, she owns a farm, she said she’ll take me in, can use an extra hand. Or two. Or three. Maybe you and Lucia would want to come with me and my sister, if Ingrid and Marcurio go? Won’t be the same as living in the grand Lakeview Manor, of course,” he added, “but there’d be a roof over your head and people to care for you. It isn’t right, the way Ingrid treats you,” he said passionately. “Something goes wrong with her, you come with me, you hear?”

 

The lump in Sofie’s throat grew, and something inside her chest loosened. _He cares for me,_ she thought. _The old cart man really cares for me._

 

“Let your sister know too, girl,” Gunjar continued. “Let her know there’s a bed for her, if and when Marcurio and Ingrid go their separate ways. You girls don’t have to worry.”

 

“Yes sir,” Sofie said, thinking she would tell Lucia — but she doubted Lucia would care. The fact that he cared enough to offer her a bed was nice to know — but by now both she and Lucia knew better than to depend on adults. _To take care of us is a promise he can’t keep, and besides …._

 

A sudden flush of warmth filled her. _And besides,_ _I have Jehan._ Jehan, her new friend — _and_ the promise that, once he had finished raising his master, he would bring her parents back to life.

 

Still, she could tell he had meant well, and she smiled at him and said, “Thank you, Gunjar.”

 

The gruff old cart driver nodded. “Just you remember that, little Sofie. I won’t let you nor your sister out in the cold. Not again. Keep it in mind.” And here he clucked to Star. “Gee up there!” and slapped the reins against her back.

 

* * *

 

 

The sun had come out by the time they reached Falkreath, around midday; its weak rays shone on the roofs of the houses which seemed to soak up their warmth. Gunjar pulled the cart up in front of the town store, Gray Pine Goods, and went in to pick up some supplies from the store’s owner, Solaf — bolts of cloth; panes of glass; barrels of preserved food and wine — and to sell bottles of mead and hides and venison. When he went next door to bargain with Solaf’s brother Bolund, who ran the town’s mill, Sofie looked over the store’s merchandise: she bought a small silver and garnet ring for Jehan, thinking he might be able to enchant it, and a few lengths of taffy for herself. After that, she waited outside, enjoying the rare warmth of the sun, while Gunjar finished loading the lumber into the back of the cart. When he called to her, she climbed up into the seat.

 

“Homeward bound,” he said comfortably. “Gee up there, Star!” The metal-clad wheels rattled on the cobbles as Star lurched into a trot.

 

The ride home was mostly silent; Sofie was thinking of Jehan and how happy he woul be with the present she had gotten him. Still she noted that the sky began to darken as they drew nearer Lakeview Manor, with clouds rolling in from over Lake Illinalta.

 

“Looks like rain,” Gunjar commented.

 

“Uthgerd will be happy,” Sofie said. She could smell water in the air, and her skin prickled as a low sullen rumbling of thunder muttered in the sitance. “Do you think we’ll make it in time before the rain starts?”

 

“Can’t say, child,” Gunjar said. “We’re close. There, you can see the tower on the horizon …. Wait a minute … “

 

He drew on the reins, and Star slackened pace. Gunjar shaded his eyes with one hand, a frown creasing his face.

 

“What?” Sofie felt herself shudder. Gunjar’s frown deepened.

 

“I don’t know. Something’s not right.” He felt under the seat of the cart, coming up with a short sword, as well as a set of bow and arrows. “Get your dagger, girl,” he told her.

 

Sofie quickly put one hand to the glass dagger she carried at her belt. Although Ingrid had given it to her for her protection, Sofie had never had to use it against another person before.

 

“Is it bandits?”

 

“I don’t know, child,” he said shortly. “Be ready for anything.”

 

As the cart drew nearer the _stedding_ , Sofie could see what had caught Gunjar’s attention: Lakeview Manor was in an uproar.

 

Lights blazed from every window. The front door was standing wide open. Ingrid and Marcurio were in the front yard, locked in a tense face-off; the air between them fairly crackled with electricity. The rest of the household was gathered around them, trying to interject, or to calm each of them down; only Teldryn Sero stood a little back from the commotion, his arms folded, his entire body language expressing sardonic amusement.

 

“It’s a fight!” Sofie exclaimed, amazed.

 

Gunjar drew the cart to a halt. “Get inside, girl,” he told her. “Quick.”

 

Sofie jumped down from the cart, but ignored him. Quickly, she ran to the knot of people in the front courtyard, slipping in beside Lucia.

 

“What’s going on?” she whispered.

 

“I don’t know!” Lucia whispered back — not that anyone was paying attention to them. “Ingrid came back and they just started in on each other!”

 

“That’s right!” Marcurio was shouting at the top of his voice. “Walk away! That’s all you ever do! You haven’t been a proper wife since the day we married, and you’re an even worse mother!” He threw out one wild hand toward Lucia and Sofie, without sparing them a glance. “If we were in Cyrodiil — “

 

Ingrid cut him off, her blue eyes sparking cruelly. “‘If we were in Cyrodiil, if we were in Cyrodiil.’ This is _Skyrim._ What did you expect? I’m a _Nord_ , not one of your little Imperial house-mice. You want to know why I’m not around more? It’s because you’re not enough for me. As if a pathetic milk-drinker like you could ever keep up with a Nord shield-maiden like me!” And she gave a scornful laugh.

 

Marcurio’s fine Imperial features tensed. His entire body stiffened, and he drew a breath as if Ingrid had punched him in the gut. For just a moment, Sofie felt for him, despite everything. “Do you even care about us at all, Ingrid?” he demanded. “Do you care about anyone or anything?”

 

Ingrid gave that terrible laugh again. “I care about those who are _worth_ caring about. Who are strong enough to be worth caring about.”

 

“Like Borgakh?” Marcurio challenged, and now his own scorn shone in those russet eyes. “Whatever _did_ happen to Borgakh anyway?”

 

Then he stopped. The atmosphere hanging over the small knot of people changed, almost _intensified._ Ingrid was watching with an expression of fixed disdain. Marcurio studied her, face intent. “What _did_ happen to Borgakh?” he repeated quietly.

 

Ingrid was silent. The curve to her lips deepened.

 

Marcurio said nothing. He continued to stare at her, locked in that strange focus. Slowly, slowly, a terrible truth began to dawn in Sofie’s mind, chilling her heart, stealing her breath. She could see in the expressions of the others the same awful realization that was growing in her own mind. Though Ingrid remained silent, the truth hung in the air as if in letters of fire.

 

For a moment, just one moment, Marcurio’s face was still. “Why?” The word could have come from any one of them.

 

Ingrid’s smile deepened further; Sofie fancied she could see teeth gleaming between the red of Ingrid’s lips. “The Night Mother is a demanding mistress.”

_The Night Mother — !_

 

Sofie felt as if the ground had been ripped from under her feet. There was no one in all Tamriel who didn’t know what that meant. Almost involuntarily she clutched the hilt of her dagger, as pathetic a defense as it would have been against Ingrid — against the Dovahkiin.

 

Marcurio’s expression settled into a strange fixity. His words as clear as crystal, he whispered, “You monster.”

 

Ingrid’s grin broadened, showing more and more of her teeth. She seemed somehow almost unrecognizable; the cruelty in her face was a match for one of the Daedra. She curled one hand around the hilt of her Dragonbone mace as she began, slowly, to advance on him.

 

Marcurio raised his own hands, crackling with lightning and the blackish purple of Conjuration.

_No. No. I don’t want to see this —_ This had gotten so bad, so fast, Sofie could scarcely believe it. The portentous sense of doom in the air was unbearable. She wanted nothing more than to run away and hide, but her legs seemed to have turned to stone. The set of Ingrid’s features was as immobile as Marcurio’s as she advanced on him with that dreadful slowness. Everyone else seemed frozen in tableau; no one could move. Sofie couldn’t bear it a moment longer. _I can’t stand it,_ she thought in a sort of mad frenzy. _I’ll scream, I’ll scream, I’ll scream —_

 

“I hate to interrupt this charming domestic drama, but should we really be wasting time here? You promised the Jarl you’d clear the witches’ coven out of Sunderstone Gorge today.”

 

The words from Teldryn Sero made Sofie jump. They cut through the tension in the clearing like a knife, as the focus snapped onto the cool, ironic Dunmer, who was leaning against the wall of the stable, his features inscrutable behind his mask. Ingrid started, and lowered her mace; Marcurio dropped his hands and the glow around them dissipated. Yet the cold hatred in their eyes as they stared at each other, if anything, intensified.

 

“When I get back,” Ingrid said, deadly quiet, “you’d better be gone.”

 

Marcurio was shaking his head. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t stay here another minute. You can find me in Solitude. _If_ you even care.”

 

Ingrid made no reply. Moving with taut, controlled energy, she yanked away and strode toward the stable. She was moving with such force that Gunjar had to jump out of her way or she would have smashed right into him; yet she seemed to take no heed. She went straight to her strange black horse with glowing red eyes, and swung up onto its back. She gave a yell — _“Hyahh!”_ and the horse pounded away from the stable, racing down the hill off toward the main road.

 

Teldryn Sero tossed a lazy salute in the direction of Marcurio.

 

“I’d start packing if I were you,” he said sardonically, and then strolled off after Ingrid with no sign of hurry.

 

Marcurio stared after Ingrid for a long moment, and then spat out, “Oblivion take her!” He spun on his heel and stalked into the _stedding,_ slamming the door behind him with tremendous force.

 

At the slamming of the door, the tension broke with an almost audible snap. Llewellyn, Uthgerd and Rayya all started babbling at once, louder and louder, exclaiming, calling on the gods, expressing disbelief at what had happened. Even Thistle, the _stedding’s_ mild-mannered cow, started lowing. Yet in the midst of all the tumult, Lucia’s and Sofie’s eyes found each other; a single thought leapt between them as if they had shared it.

_Time to go._

 

“Well, looks like this is it,” Gunjar said gruffly, coming up beside Sofie. “They’re splitting. You come on with me, little girl, and I’ll see you and your sister are taken care of, like I was telling you. My sister’ll be glad to take you — “

 

But Sofie wasn’t listening. Now that it had finally happened, she wasn’t afraid. A driving, singing sense of happiness filled her _It’s time,_ she thought. _Past time. I should have done this before —_ She broke from the gathering, pausing only to scoop up Cotton, whom she saw cowering by the garden fence, before racing off toward the path that led down the hill. The path toward Jehan.

 

“Where are you going, girl?” Gunjar called after her. She ignored him. One thought filled her mind.

_I’m coming, Jehan!_

 

* * *

 

 

Sofie’s feet pounded down the gently curving path, around the bluff to Jehan’s altar. The sky had turned dark with clouds rolling in, and rain was beginning to spat down in large droplets, warm as blood against her back and neck. Thunder rumbled ominously across the sullen sky, distantly threatening. None of it mattered. Sofie was almost delirious with joy.

_It’s over. At last it’s over._ She seemed to skim over the ground, her heart on wings. _I’m going to be with Jehan now. He’s going to help me bring my parents back. And then we will all be happy together._ She could see them smiling at her in her mind’s eye, could feel their arms around her. _It will happen, just as I thought it would, just as I imagined —_

 

As she stumbled off the end of the path, she was calling wildly, “Jehan!? Jehan? I’ve come! It’s me, I’ve come — “

 

Jehan was standing by the altar. His dark robed form turned to her, and she drew in her breath in a sudden pang of fright. His face was wrong. There was a wild, unfocused look about his eyes, a crackling, savage energy that she had never seen in him before.

 

“Je — Jehan?” she faltered, suddenly uncertain.

 

“What are you doing here!?”

 

She took a step back, almost without thought. “Jehan, it’s — it’s me, Sofie!” she cried. “Don’t you remember me? I’m here, just like I said I would be — look, I brought Cotton!” She thrust her pet rabbit out at him. Cotton squirmed in her arms, struggling as if to flee. “It’s me, Sofie — “

 

“I _told_ you not to _come here_ today!” he shouted. More thunder was rumbling in the distance. The wind was picking up; tendrils of his shoulder-length brown hair lashed his face. “Didn’t you understand me?”

 

“But — but I _had_ to!” Sofie’s fear was growing by the moment. He looked so strange, wild and haggard, and she didn’t understand what was behind his eyes; she squeezed Cotton tightly. “I _had_ to — I didn’t have anywhere else to go!”

 

“Do you _realize_ what you could have done?” He didn’t seem to hear her. “You have no idea — You’ve interrupted something of the utmost importance!”

 

“But Jehan, I didn’t have a choice!” Tears prickled at the backs of her eyelids. “What’s wrong? Why — why are you being so mean? I thought you said I could come to you! We were going to bring my mother and father back to life! Don’t you remember?”

 

She went toward him, hoping for a hug, but Jehan pulled away from her. Her fear shifted to panic. This wasn’t going as she thought it would. Jehan wasn’t smiling, wasn’t nice or kind — he didn’t even seem to see her at all, not really. “Jehan, listen to me, if you’ll just _listen —_ “

_“Not now!”_

 

Suddenly there was a crash behind her. Cotton bolted from her arms as Sofie jerked back and screamed; even Jehan started, as a wrist-thick bolt of lightning sliced down out of the overcast sky. It struck one of the standing stones and a sizzling blast arced its way across the empty space to the altar. The complete human skeleton she had seen before was still lying there, surrounded by an arrangement of ritual tools and symbols, with the soul gem at its heart — the dark Soul Gem. The Black Soul Gem.

 

Jehan raced to the altar, a wild look of excitation on his face. Tendrils of violet light wreathed the bones, playing along the rib cage, spooling up and down the spine, dancing in each of the eye sockets. Almost transfixed with horror, Sofie saw the bones begin to stir, to twitch — and that was all.

 

“No!” It was a cry of despair. He ran one hand through his hair, that wildness in all his movements. “It’s not working!” He whirled on her. “Look what you’ve done!”

 

“Wh — what do you mean?” Sofie drifted closer, as if pulled by an irresistible force. She wanted to claim his attention, to make him stop looking at the bones on the altar, to make him _see her. Remember all the things you promised!_ her heart cried. _Jehan, don’t you remember — ? You’re all I have left — you_ have _to remember!_ “Jehan, I want to help! Just tell me how to help, tell me what I did, and I’ll fix it!”

 

“You broke the circle, you foolish girl!” he wailed. “You broke the circle and now the energy relay is incomplete!” He looked as if he wanted to cry. A horrible feeling of guilt and fear twisted in her gut.

 

“I’m sorry!” she pleaded. “I didn’t know what I was doing! I’ll — I’ll fix it, I promise — ”

 

“You can’t _fix_ it!” he shouted at her. Feverishly, he whirled to the altar and snatched up a leather-bound notebook, rifling the pages and muttering to himself. “There’s got to be a way — there’s _got_ to, if I can only find it — “

 

That black horror rose over her head, swallowing her completely. _He doesn’t see me, I don’t exist for him — do I exist?_ Moved by panic, she grabbed at one of his flowing sleeves.

 

“Jehan, I want to help! Please let me help! I don’t know what you’re doing, but if you tell me how to help — “

 

“There’s only one way.” He was staring at the pages with a terrible, desperate intensity. “Yes, that’s it — that’s what I had forgotten. That’s the final ingredient. The _only_ way — there is no other.”

 

“What? Just tell me, and I’ll — “

 

“I need a human heart.”

_A —_ Sofie froze, her blood chiling within her. _No — no, he won’t —_ _he **can’t** — he’s my friend — _

 

Jehan swung on her with sudden, wild desperation. She fought against her paralysis as he seized her wrist in a grip hard enough to hurt, but her muscles wouldn’t obey her; it was as if she were encased in ice from the neck down. _No — no — no — !_

 

The Daedric dagger she had brought him was raised above her head in a final sweep — she could see the red veining on its blade shining dully under the gray sky — and at last she found her voice in a shriek.

_“Jehan — NO!!!”_

 

The knife flashed down.

 

* * *

  

Things at Lakeview Manor were in such an uproar that nobody noticed Sofie was missing until next morning. Further delays were occasioned by the fact that Lucia was also missing, and had left a note saying she was leaving with Marcurio. This was not true; Lucia had never had any intention of staying with Marcurio, but it served to keep the adults from the _stedding_ from trying to find her, which was what she had wanted.

 

Everyone assumed that Sofie had left with Lucia and thought no more of it until that evening, when Uthgerd went up to their room to see what was left, and saw that while Lucia had taken some possessions with her, all of Sofie’s things were in their places and undisturbed.

 

At that point, the members of the _stedding_ put their heads together and realized the last one to see Sofie had been Gunjar, who had watched her run off along the path down the bluffs during Ingrid’s and Marcurio’s final argument. This occasioned even more worry because of the rumors that a necromancer had his lair at the end of the path.

 

Immediately Rayya set off at a blistering pace on the _stedding’s_ horse to go get Marcurio; as a mage, he would be best prepared to lead the assault on the wizard. She overtook Marcurio, who had been on foot; he was alone, but everyone had forgotten about Lucia by then, so that raised no questions. Marcurio and Rayya arrived at the _stedding_ just as Ingrid got back to the house, and more time was lost in a round of pointless arguing before Rayya, Uthgerd, and Llewellyn managed to convey that Sofie was missing and thought to be in the hands of a necromancer. It didn’t matter though; by then any chance to save Sofie was long past.

 

Ingrid and Marcurio, fighting together for the last time, along with Teldryn Sero, Uthgerd the Unbroken, and Rayya, descended the path to confront the necromancer. They made short work not just of Jehan, but of the draugr he had raised as well; neither of them put up much resistance. They found Sofie lying at the base of the altar, her chest marred by the red, gaping wound where her heart had been cut out of her body.

 

Afterward, Marcurio left the _stedding_ and headed to Proudspire Manor in Solitude, where he stopped just long enough to retrieve some personal effects he’d left there — spellbooks, a few Soul Gems, some enchanted gear and a couple of staves. From there, he departed from Skyrim altogether, returning to Cyrodiil and the Arcane University. No one at Lakeview Manor ever heard from Lucia again; much later rumor reached them that she had made it to Riften and joined the Thieves’ Guild, though that might not have been true. Ingrid came back to Lakeview Manor once or twice to collect a few important weapons and artifacts; then she moved out of Falkreath Hold for good, making her home instead in Heljarchen Hall in the Pale.

 

The altar below Lakeview, by the shores of Lake Ilinalta, lay vacant. Sofie had been buried at Falkreath, but Jehan had been left where he fell. His bones whitened in the sunshine. The altar was waiting.

 

_Finis._

 

 

 


End file.
